••w- 


,*, 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  CHARTS 
MRS.  BAILLIE  REYNOLDS 


UNIT.  Of  CALIF.  LIBRARY.  LOS  ANG 


BY  MRS.  BAILLIE  REYNOLDS 

THE   JUDGMENT  OF  CHAR1S 
ALSO  RAN 

"OPEN,  SESAME!" 
THE  KING'S  WIDOW 
THE  LONELY  STRONGHOLD 
A  CASTLE  TO  LET 
THE  DAUGHTER  PAYS 
THE  COST  OF  A  PROMISE 
A  DOUBTFUL  CHARACTER 
A  MAKE-SHIFT  MARRIAGE 
OUT  OF  THE  NIGHT 
GIRL  FROM  NOWHERE 
THE  NOTORIOUS  MISS  LISLE 

NEW   YORK 
GEORGE    H.    DORAN    COMPANY 


THE      JUDGMENT 
OF     CHARIS 


BY 


MRS.  BAILLIE  REYNOLDS 

AUTHOR  OF  "THE  KING'S  WIDOW,"  "THE  DAUGHTER 
PAYS,"    "THE    LONELY    STRONGHOLD," 

"A   CASTLE   TO   LET,"   ETC. 


NEW  XBJr  YORK 
GEORGE  H.  DORAN  COMPANY 


COPYRIGHT,   1922, 
BY  GEORGE   H.  DORAN   COMPANY 


THE  JUDGMENT  OF  CHARIS.     I 


PRINTED   IN   THE   UNITED   STATES  OF  AMERICA 


CONTENTS 

CHAPTER  PAG* 

I  Lady  Portwine's  Lap-Dog              .     r.      .  9 

II  Founding  a  Friendship 2O 

III  The  Cranstoun-Browns  at  Home  ...  28 

IV  A  Curious  Request 37 

V  Who  is  Miss  Garth? 46 

VI  New  Impressions :••     .  52 

VII  George  Strachan's  Heirs 60 

VIII  The  Dinner-Party 68 

IX  An  Exciting  Scheme 80 

X  Comparing  Notes 92 

XI  Colonel  Morrison  Wonders     ....  98 

XII  InTeesdale .  107 

XIII  Changing  Partners I2O 

XIV  Phyllis  and  Finance  .      .      .      .      .      .      .  130 

XV  A  Near  Shave 140 

XVI  Gilbert  Commits  Himself 152 

XVII  Lord  Clement  Butts  In     .....  159 

XVIII  The  Misty  Mountain-Top       ....  167 

XIX  Lost!    Lost!    Lost! 177 

XX  Bid  Me  Good-Bye 189 


2132280 


VI 


Contents 


CHAPTM  PAGB 

XXI  Phyllis  Explains      . 198 

XXII  Charis  Rejected              .     .     r.     .     .     .  208 

XXIII  Strachan's  Displeasure 213 

XXIV  Charis  Cuts  the  Knot 222 

XXV  Exit  Miss  Garth 233 

XXVI  Bertalda's  Accident 244 

XXVII  Altered  Circumstances 250 

XXVIII  A  Confession 262 

XXIX  The  Judge  is  Judged 273 

XXX  Strachan's  Suggestion 283 

XXXI  Dreams;  and  the  Awakening  .     .     r.     •  292 


THE   JUDGMENT 
OF  CHARIS 

CHAPTER  I 

LADY  PORTWINE'S  LAP-DOG 

AS  the  lift  shot  noiselessly  down  to  the  ground- 
floor  of  the  Tuscany  Hotel,  a  middle-aged  man 
stepped  out  of  it  and  walked  towards  the  entrance 
lounge. 

He  was  well  dressed,  but  had  the  air  of  one  who 
has  known  hard  work  and  discipline.  His  face  was 
rather  a  fine  one,  oval  in  shape,  dark  in  complexion. 
His  iron-grey  hair  gave  a  touch  of  distinction  to  his 
clean-cut  features,  and  to  the  lines  upon  his  counte- 
nance, graven  there  by  some  deep-lying  trouble. 

Beckoning  one  of  the  page-boys,  he  bade  him 
watch  for  the  arrival  of  an  elderly  lady  and  gentle- 
man of  the  name  of  Cranstoun-Brown,  and  to  con- 
duct them  to  him  in  the  drawing-room.  The  voice 
in  which  the  order  was  given  was  pleasant,  but  car- 
ried the  hint  of  an  accent. 

As  he  turned  away  to  go  to  the  drawing-room,  a 
newsboy  came  through  the  swing-door.  Summon- 

9 


10         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

ing  him,  the  gentleman  bought  a  Spectator  and 
turned  aside  to  glance  at  it,  seating  himself  upon  one 
of  the  couches  which  stood  about. 

A  large,  important-looking  female  was  descend- 
ing the  main  staircase.  She  was  accompanied  by  a 
small  Pekingese  dog  upon  a  lead,  which  lead  termi- 
nated in  a  bracelet  secured  to  the  owner's  wrist. 

Swiftly  behind  her  came  a  thin,  active  girl  who 
carried  an  attache  case,  and  ran  downstairs  as  though 
she  had  a  train  to  catch.  Coming  within  sight  of  the 
hall  clock,  she  hastened  yet  the  more,  seeing  neither 
the  plethoric  little  dog  nor  the  link  between  him  and 
the  ponderous  lady.  She  caught  her  foot,  there  was 
a  mingled  cry,  yelp  and  shriek,  and  the  girl  fell  the 
whole  length  of  the  stairs,  alighting  almost  at  the 
feet  of  the  man  with  the  Spectator. 

He  was  prompt  in  hurrying  to  the  rescue.  The 
hall  became  full  of  excited  people  running  about. 
The  bulky  owner  of  the  dog  had  most  wisely  seated 
herself  when  the  shock  came.  Its  impact  broke  her 
bracelet,  and  the  little  cur  was  hurled,  like  the  girl, 
to  the  bottom  of  the  stairs.  Lady  Portwine  made 
such  outcry  that  at  first  she  was  thought  to  be  her- 
self injured.  Moreover,  she  was  covered  with  furs 
and  diamonds,  and  looked  important.  The  girl  was 
evidently  nobody.  She  wore  a  blue  serge  suit  and 
a  little  hat  to  match. 

For  obvious  reasons,  therefore,  more  than  one 
voice  was  heard  indignantly  to  declare  that  the  acci- 
dent had  been  the  girl's  fault  entirely.  The  man 
with  the  iron-grey  hair  had  meanwhile  lifted  her 


Lady  Portwine's  Lap-Dog         II 

carefully  from  the  ground.  She  was  not  uncon- 
scious, but  breathless  and  bewildered. 

"Oh !"  she  cried,  as  he  placed  her  upon  the  lounge. 
"What  on  earth  have  I  done?  What  happened?" 

"Never  mind,"  said  the  kind  voice  with  the  accent. 
"What  matters  is  the  extent  of  your  hurt.  May  I 
take  off  your  hat?" 

He  did  so,  deftly.  The  clerk,  who  had  left  his 
desk  to  investigate  the  affair,  seeing  that  she  was 
sitting  up  and  speaking,  turned  to  the  more  impor- 
tant matter  of  Lady  Portwine's  outraged  feelings 
and  the  extent  of  her  pedigree  dog's  injuries.  She 
and  Sir  Jacob  had  occupied  an  expensive  suite  at 
the  Tuscany  ever  since  their  phenomenal  rise  of  for- 
tune owing  to  a  deal  with  the  Government  in  South 
American  carcasses  during  the  war.  She  was  ob- 
viously to  be  conciliated;  and  for  some  minutes 
George  Strachan  had  the  monopoly  of  the  person 
who  was  really  hurt. 

The  girl  was  trying  to  laugh,  though  shivering 
and  gasping.  The  hat  had  saved  her  head  from 
anything  worse  than  a  purple  bump  which  was 
rapidly  rising  under  the  loose  rings  of  shining  hair 
upon  her  forehead.  But  when  she  attempted  to  raise 
her  arms  in  the  instinctive  feminine  desire  to  arrange 
her  head-gear,  she  uttered  a  cry  of  pain. 

"My  arm!"  she  muttered,  "my  left  arm!  I'm 
afraid  it's  sprained,  or  something.  How  perfectly 
sickening!  I'm  a  typist,  as  it  happens,  and  I  have 
to  type  a  dozen  folios  by  four  o'clock." 

Strachan   was   interested.     There    was    a    spon- 


12          The  Judgment  of  Charis 

taneity  about  that  phrase,  "How  perfectly  sicken- 
ing!" which  enlisted  his  sympathy. 

"Most  annoying,"  said  he.  "You  certainly  can't 
use  that  arm.  Look  how  your  wrist  is  swelling !  I 
had  better  take  you  to  a  doctor  and  get  it  bound 
up." 

Her  lips  twisted  a  little  as  she  nursed  the  injured 
limb. 

"Don't  you  trouble,"  said  she,  between  half-shut 
teeth.  "Not  so  bad  as  a  leg  would  have  been.  I 
can  walk — in  a  minute.  Then  I'll  go  and  .  .  .  find 
a  doctor." 

"No  such  thing,"  said  he,  with  kind  authority. 
"Certain  to  be  a  doctor  somewhere  about  in  this 
hotel.  Lie  back  a  while  and  get  your  breath  while 
I  say  a  word  to  the  authorities." 

The  management,  convinced  of  two  things — first 
that  the  girl  was  really  hurt,  and  next  that  Mr. 
Strachan  was  showing  interest  in  her  case — became 
suddenly  attentive.  She  was  taken  into  a  private 
room,  a  glass  of  water  was  brought,  and  the  doctor, 
who  had  already  rendered  first  aid  to  Fido,  discov- 
ered that  he  was  at  leisure  to  attend  to  her  wrist. 
While  he  was  doing  this,  Mr.  Strachan  was  advised 
of  the  arrival  of  his  guests,  and  went  out  into  the 
hall  to  receive  them. 

Strachan  had  been  looking  forward  to  this  meet- 
ing with  almost  painful  expectation.  His  immediate 
feeling  was  disappointment.  He  saw  a  stout,  elderly 
couple,  elaborately  got  up  for  the  occasion.  The 
lady  was  large.  She  wore  purple  silk  and  expensive 


Lady  Portwine's  Lap-Dog        13 

furs.  She  had  small  eyes  and  a  heavy  jowl.  Her 
husband  beside  her  conveyed  the  impression  of  being 
almost  as  unimportant  as  the  male  spider  is  in  com- 
parison with  the  female.  He  seemed  sheltering  be- 
hind the  expansiveness  with  which  his  wife  grasped 
her  cousin's  hand  in  two  fat  yellow-gloved  paws. 

"Why,  George — George  Strachan!  After  all 
these  years!  Back  in  England!  We  could  hardly 
believe  it  when  we  got  your  letter — could  we,  Pa? 
Well,  what  a  pleasure!  Have  you  come  home  to 
stay?" 

Strachan's  soft  dark  eyes  were  wistful  as  he  con- 
templated his  cousin  Clara.  It  could  be  seen  that 
he  was  anxious  to  like  his  kinswoman — to  think  well 
of  her  if  he  could. 

"I  can't  answer  your  question  yet,"  he  said  gravely. 
"The  old  country  has  changed  since  I  left  it — one 
has  dropped  out " 

"Of  course,"  stammered  Mr.  Cranstoun-Brown 
solicitously,  "we  realise  how  the  painful  circum- 
stances must — must — we  understand  full  well  that 
such  bereavement " 

George  Strachan  could  not  bear  so  heavy  a  touch 
upon  wounds  as  yet  but  half  healed.  His  brow  con- 
tracted, but  he  replied  quite  pleasantly: 

"We  can  talk  of  such  things  by  and  by.  Just  now 
I  want  to  ask  if  you  will  mind  waiting  five  minutes 
or  so  before  sitting  down  to  lunch?  There  has  just 
been  an  accident  here — a  young  lady  fell  downstairs 
— over  the  string  of  one  of  those  detestable  little 
lap-curs — and  has  hurt  herself  a  good  deal.  I  want 


14         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

to  persuade  her,  as  soon  as  she  feels  well  enough,  to 
come  and  eat  something  with  us." 

"A  young  lady!"  cried  Clara  Brown,  in  a  tone 
which  Strachan  found  distasteful.  Cranstoun-Brown 
was  wiser  than  his  wife — perhaps  merely  because  he 
was  kinder. 

"Fell  down  these  stairs,  you  say?"  he  echoed, 
with  some  assumption  of  interest  "A  pretty  severe 
fall,  that.  Who  is  she?" 

"That  I  don't  know,  as  yet,"  was  the  reply,  "ex- 
cept that  her  name  is  Garth  and  she  is  a  professional 
typist.  If  you  and  Clara  will  excuse  me  a  moment, 
I  will  go  and  see  what  the  doctor  thinks  of  her." 

He  saw  them  comfortably  seated  and  went  back 
to  the  room  he  had  left. 

The  doctor  had  finished  his  work  and  departed. 
The  girl  was  lying  back  in  a  large  chair  which  she 
did  not  nearly  fill.  Her  face  was  wan  and  her  eyes 
closed;  but  at  sound  of  the  opening  door  she  un- 
closed them  and  summoned  a  smile,  which  struck  him 
as  infinitely  pathetic.  He  found  her  extraordinarily 
attractive,  though  he  could  hardly  say  that  she  was 
pretty.  Her  skin  was  fine,  her  features,  though  not 
regular,  were  delicately  cut,  and  her  mouth  was  much 
tucked  in  at  the  corners,  disclosing  dear  little  teeth 
when  her  smile  broke  out.  She  was  entirely  free 
from  affectation,  and  answered  his  questions  nat- 
urally. 

"Well,"  said  he  presently,  "I  guess  you  feel  ready 
for  a  mouthful  of  lunch?" 

"Thanks.    I'll  go  over  the  road  to  a  teashop  in  a 


Lady  Portwine's  Lap-Dog        15 

minute  or  two.  I  have  to  find  a  friend  to  do  my  work 
for  me." 

"Leave  that  to  me.  I  will  send  your  notes  to  be 
copied,  while  you  are  having  lunch  here." 

She  smiled.  "You  are  most  kind,  but  that's  pre- 
posterous. I  should  need  to  have  my  lunch  cut  up 
for  me." 

"I  shall  be  here  to  cut  it  up,"  said  Strachan 
simply. 

She  laughed.  "A  bun  doesn't  need  cutting  up. 
Do  you  think  I  usually  lunch  on  rump  steak?" 

"You  don't  look  like  it,  but  I  have  no  idea  what 
people  eat  in  England  since  the  war.  I've  only  been 
back  a  week  from  Canada." 

"Canada!"  she  cried,  on  a  note  almost  of  tri- 
umph, adding,  as  he  looked  interrogative,  "I  knew 
you  were  different,  somehow." 

"Different?" 

As  she  opened  her  mouth  to  reply,  the  door 
opened  and  a  young  woman  in  a  very  smart  black 
silk  frock  sailed  in.  She  glanced  from  the  lady's 
bandaged  wrist  to  the  gentleman  as  if  puzzled,  but 
concluded  that  she  had  better  deliver  her  message. 

"Lady  Portwine  wishes  me  to  ask  how  the — the 
young  person  is,  and  to  tell  her  that  Her  Ladyship 
does  not  intend  to— to  take  any  steps — any  proceed- 
ings, I  should  say." 

Strachan  was  watching  the  little  face  whose  out- 
line gleamed  so  purely  against  the  dim  velvet  back- 
ground of  the  easy  chair.  He  marked  how  the 
dimples  quivered  about  the  corners  of  the  tucked-in 


16         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

mouth.  The  airs  and  graces  of  the  lady's  maid  were 
evidently  almost  too  much  for  Miss  Garth's  self- 
control.  He  turned  to  the  waiting  messenger. 

"Do  I  gather  that  Lady  Portwine  maintains  that 
the  accident  was — er — this  young  lady's  fault?" 

The  maid  looked  taken  aback.  "She  was  running 
downstairs  at  a  great  rate,"  she  murmured. 

"On  the  other  hand,"  went  on  Mr.  Strachan,  "it 
is  not  a  wise  thing  to  walk  up  and  down  a  public 
staircase  with  a  very  small  animal  on  a  lead.  Miss 
Garth  has  been  hurt,  and  her  injuries  will  interfere 
with  her  professional  duties.  I  witnessed  the  acci- 
dent, and  I  do  not  think  the  courts  would  hold  Miss 
Garth  to  have  been  in  fault." 

The  maid's  expression  revealed  that  the  same  idea 
had  been  put  before  Her  Ladyship. 

"Do  I  understand  that  the  young — lady — thinks 
she  has  any  cause  for  complaint,  sir?" 

Perhaps  it  was  the  highly  effective  pause  before 
the  maid  brought  out  the  word  "lady"  which  caused 
Miss  Garth  to  break  into  laughter. 

"Of  course  not.  It  was  half  my  fault,"  she  said 
impetuously,  and  added  mischievously,  "I  hope  the 
little  rat  was  not  hurt." 

"You  are  the  only  person  who  was  hurt,  I  con- 
jecture," said  Strachan.  To  his  sensitive  perceptions 
the  girl's  demeanour  suggested  that  she  herself  had 
been  used  to  command  the  services  of  a  maid,  and 
that  the  attitude  of  this  one  tickled  her  hugely.  A 
pang  of  sympathy  shot  through  him.  Was  this  a 


Lady  Portwine's  Lap-Dog        17 

specimen  of  what  Punch  laughingly  refers  to  as  "the 
new  poor"? 

Evidently  the  maid  was  a  little  alarmed  by  the 
impressive  manner  of  Strachan's  declaration  that 
he  had  been  a  witness  of  the  accident.  She  lost  some 
of  her  arrogance,  and  stammered  out  that  she  was 
bidden  to  say  that  Her  Ladyship  would  like  to  com- 
pensate the  young  lady  for  her  loss  of  time  and 
the  doctor's  services. 

At  this,  Miss  Garth,  with  a  muttered  exclama- 
tion of  "What  cheek!"  came  to  her  feet.  Mr. 
Strachan,  without  hesitation,  stepped  in  front  of 
her. 

"Miss  Garth's  hand  is  so  injured  that  she  cannot 
use  a  typewriter,  and  so  is  unable  to  execute  the  com- 
mission on  which  she  was  engaged  when  she  fell 
downstairs.  She  must  pay  a  substitute  to  do  her 
work " 

The  maid  promptly  produced  some  Treasury 
notes,  and  having  thrust  them  into  his  hand,  mut- 
tered that  she  would  report  to  Her  Ladyship  that 
the  young — er — lady  was  satisfied,  and  hurried  out 
of  the  room.  Strachan  was  conscious  that  a  very 
irate  young  woman  was  standing  just  behind  him. 

"Well,  upon  my  word,"  she  began  indignantly, 
but  burst  once  more  into  laughter  as  he  turned  and 
faced  her  with  an  irresistible  twist  of  the  mouth. 

"I  take  too  much  upon  myself,  you  were  about  to 
say.  That's  nonsense.  Am  I  wrong  in  concluding 
that  you  work  for  your  living?" 

"Certainly  I  work  for  my  living." 


1 8         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"Then  you  can't  afford  to  lose  work?" 
"N— no." 

"Why  shouldn't  this  woman,  bursting  with  money 
to  waste  on  lap-dogs  and  kindred  follies,  help  you 
when,  partly  at  least  by  her  fault,  you  have  been 
crippled?  I  suppose  you  know  that  hand  won't  be 
serviceable  for  some  while  yet?" 

She  admitted  it  grudgingly. 

"Yet  you  are  too  proud  to  accept  this  little  bit 
of  compensation?" 

His  voice  and  manner  as  he  handed  over  the 
money  made  it  impossible  to  take  offence.  He  had 
a  hint  of  the  American  "vurry,"  and  for  "can't"  he 
said  neither  "carn't"  nor  "can't,"  but  "caan't," 
which  was  somehow  fascinating. 

"And  now  for  lunch,"  he  went  on  calmly,  having 
silenced  her  objections.  "I  have  a  most  efficient 
chaperon  outside  there  in  the  hall,  and  I  hope  you'll 
honour  me  by  being  my  guest.  Where  are  those 
documents  of  yours  ?  While  we  eat,  I'll  send  a  mes- 
senger to  the  nearest  bureau  to  get  them  done." 

"You  are  the  most  domineering  person,"  she 
smiled,  her  lovely  eyes  full  of  gratitude,  "but  indeed 
I  can't.  I  don't  feel  anything  like  well  enough  to 
lunch  in  a  restaurant.  I  must  have  a  taxi  and  go 
home.  Please  find  me  one,  and  I'll  depart,  blessing 
your  name — which  I  don't  know." 

"It's  Strachan,"  he  answered,  "George  Strachan. 
I  guess  I'll  have  to  let  you  take  your  way.  Sit  down 
there,  and  I'll  find  a  taxi  and  call  you."  Cutting 
short  her  protestations,  he  shut  the  door  upon  her 


Lady  Portwine's  Lap-Dog        19 

and  went  up  to  his  two  lunchless  relatives,  seated  in 
the  drawing-room. 

"Clara,"  said  he,  "I  want  that  you  and  Joe  should 
go  right  into  the  restaurant  and  begin  your  lunch. 
That  girl's  not  fit  to  go  home  alone,  and  I  must  take 
her.  Follow  me — I'll  give  you  in  charge  of  one  of 
the  best  waiters  in  London,  and  I'll  be  with  you 
again  before  you've  got  to  the  joint." 

Disregarding  their  protests  and  suggestions,  he 
swept  them  both  off,  saw  them  comfortably  settled 
at  the  reserved  table,  and  hastened  back  to  his 
charge. 


CHAPTER  II 

FOUNDING  A   FRIENDSHIP 

WHEN  Clara  Strachan,  a  not  uncomely  and 
extremely  masterful  young  woman,  married 
Joe  Brown,  it  had  been  for  the  quite  simple  reason 
that,  so  far  as  she  could  see,  it  was  a  case  of  Joe 
or  nobody.  In  one  respect  she  had  made  a  wise 
choice,  for  the  little  man  was  not  without  commer- 
cial aptitude.  Although  his  business  was  a  very 
small  affair,  he  prospered  mildly,  and  the  years  of 
the  war  had  rendered  him  more  definitely  pros- 
perous. 

His  increased  profits  in  no  wise  represented 
wealth;  but  he  had  taken  a  roomy  house  in  the  suburb 
of  Streatwood,  and  had  ceased  to  be  "JosePn  C. 
Brown"  on  his  visiting  cards,  and  become  "J.  Cran- 
stoun-Brown." 

The  pair  had  three  children,  a  son  and  two  daugh- 
ters; and  the  return  from  Canada  of  their  cousin, 
George  Strachan,  was  full  of  interest  to  them;  for 
in  his  case  no  qualification  was  required  when  you 
called  him  a  rich  man.  He  was  a  millionaire,  and 
the  war  had  left  him  quite  alone  in  the  world. 

Seven  years  before  they  had  written  sympathetic- 
ally to  condole  with  him  on  the  tragic  death  of  his 
wife  and  daughter  in  a  sleigh  accident.  His  son  was 

20 


Founding  a  Friendship  21 

left  to  be  his  comfort  and  companion;  but  Captain 
Ronald  Strachan  had  fallen  in  the  hour  of  triumph 
— in  the  final  victorious  advance  of  the  Allies,  a 
month  before  the  armistice. 

The  visit  to  England  of  the  childless  widower 
might  be  fraught  with  most  important  consequences 
to  the  house  of  Cranstoun-Brown.  Seated  at  table 
and  plied  with  hors  d'ceuvres,  the  pair  considered 
the  situation. 

The  side-whiskers  which  adorned  Joseph's  roundt 
good-tempered  face  made  him  look  out  of  date.  He 
had  a  habit  of  intently  perusing  his  wife's  features 
and  expression — actually  with  the  object  of  ascer- 
taining the  state  of  her  temper,  but  apparently  in 
ever-fresh  wonder  as  to  what  he  had  been  thinking 
about  when  he  allowed  her  to  appropriate  him. 

Time  had  treated  Clara  unkindly.  Her  square 
jaw,  now  that  she  was  stout,  had  developed  into  a 
forbidding  jowl;  and  her  fleshy  cheeks  made  her 
small  eyes  recede  into  her  head,  and  produced  an 
expression  of  cunning  which  was  not  really  deserved. 
She  was  a  good  wife  and  mother  according  to  her 
lights,  and  her  ambitions  were  centred  upon  the 
future  of  her  children. 

"How  long  is  it  since  George  landed?"  she  in- 
quired of  her  husband. 

"Let  me  see,  we  had  his  letter  on  the  Tuesday, 
I  think — yes,  Tuesday  it  was,  for  I  remember  I  had 
to  go  over  that  day  to  see  Bates  in  Tokenhouse 
Yard " 

"Yes,  yes,  and  to-day  is  Monday."    The  prattling 


22         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

reminiscence  on  his  side,  the  ruthless  interruption, 
on  hers,  were  both  characteristic.  "A  bare  week," 
she  reflected,  "and  already  he  has  struck  up  a  friend- 
ship with  a  girl.  Picked  her  up  here  in  the  hotel, 
do  you  suppose  ?" 

"Oh,  my  dear,"  in  a  shocked  manner,  "I  conclude 
he  knew  her  in  Canada — his  wife  must  have  known 
her  in  Canada " 

"Joseph,,  don't  be  a  fool.    He  says  she  is  a  typist." 

"Yes,  yes,  quite  so;  but  for  all  that  she  might 
have  known  him  formerly — in  better  days,"  his  voice 
trailed  off  and  grew  vague  as  his  wife  snorted.  Her 
only  son  had  now  for  some  years  been  marriageable, 
and  she  nursed  a  deep  suspicion  of  all  young  ladies 
without  means. 

"What  you  and  I  have  to  consider  is  not  George's 
morals,  but  our  children's  future,"  she  remarked. 
"If  he  has  made  a  protegee  of  some  girl,  well,  it 
can't  be  helped.  But  we  may  be  able  to  prevent 
his  marrying  again." 

"I  don't  see  what  difference  that  would  make," 
said  Joseph  simply  but  sensibly.  "There's  no  settled 
property.  He  can  leave  his  money  to  anybody — 
wife  or  no  wife." 

"I  think  we  may  venture  to  suppose  that  as  yet  he 
has  made  no  will.  I  am  convinced  that  he  has  taken 
this  journey  to  England  to  get  into  touch  with  his 
family."  She  heaved  a  big  sigh.  "What  a  merciful 
thing  for  us  that  poor  Emily  has  no  children." 

"  'M,  wonderful  that  is,  Nicholson  being  a  parson 
and  all.  They  might  have  had  nine  or  ten — it  was 


Founding  a  Friendship          23 

to  be  expected — whereas  our  three  have  practically 
a  clear  field." 

There  was  a  moment's  silence  while  both  parental 
minds  made  excursions  into  the  future  of  Gilbert, 
Phyllis,  and  Veronica. 

"You  didn't  catch  sight  of  her,  did  you?"  asked 
Clara  presently.  "George  is  fairly  simple,  or  seems 
so — and  the  lady  typewriter  is  a  useful  pose." 

"George's  simplicity,"  said  Mr.  Brown,  who  was 
becoming  mellowed  by  his  excellent  lunch,  "has 
taken  him  far,  financially." 

"Which  doesn't  prove  that  he  knows  anything  at 
all  about  women,"  snapped  the  lady  promptly. 

Meanwhile,  Miss  Garth  found  herself — she 
hardly  knew  how — seated  in  a  taxi-cab  with  Mr. 
Strachan  at  her  side. 

"This  is  all  wrong,"  she  said,  in  earnest  protest. 
"You  have  left  guests  for  me — a  stranger!  What 
will  they  think?" 

He  was  evidently  surprised.  "Why,  isn't  it  the 
natural  thing  to  do?  You  look  pretty  white,  and 
I  couldn't  let  you  go  drifting  off  alone — you  might 
never  have  reached  home."  He  was  musing  upon 
the  address  she  had  given  him — that  of  the  Trenby 
Hostel,  a  big  residential  club  for  young  gentlewomen 
who  worked  professionally.  He  knew  little  of  such 
places,  but  concluded  that  it  could  not  be  the  girl's 
own  home.  "Have  you  no  home  of  your  own?"  he 
asked  compassionately. 

"No  home  available,"  was  her  swift  reply,  accom- 


24         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

panied  by  so  hot  a  blush  that  he  felt  there  must 
be  something  painful  in  her  mind  in  this  connection. 
Her  voice  repelled  further  questioning — he  was 
sensitive  to  tones. 

"Will  you  find  anybody  in  this  hostel  place  able 
to  look  after  you?"  he  ventured  in  a  dissatisfied 
voice. 

She  laughed  reassuringly.  "Why,  of  course.  We 
all  look  after  each  other  there.  We  are  a  jolly  lot, 
and  Miss  Kay,  the  Head,  is  no  end  good  to  us.  We 
are  allowed  to  invite  our  friends — both  sexes — to 
come  and  see  us.  Will  you  come  to  tea  one  day  if  I 
invite  you?"  she  asked,  as  it  were  experimentally. 

He  returned  her  look  with  those  serious  eyes, 
whose  youth  and  darkness  made  pleasant  contrast 
with  his  brown,  lined  face  and  iron-grey  hair.  "If 
you  are  inviting  me  in  the  way  young  ladies  do — 
broadcast,  meaning  nothing — you  are  making  a  mis- 
take. I  mean  to  come,  and  I  would  like  you  to  fix 
a  day." 

She  was  perhaps  a  trifle  hustled  by  this  prompti- 
tude; but  the  tranquillity  of  his  demeanour  reassured 
her.  He  was — or  seemed — completely  unconscious 
of  doing  anything  that  was  not  perfectly  normal. 

"I  did  mean  it,"  she  said  intrepidly.  "Will  you 
come  next  Monday?" 

"Thank  you.  I  shall  not  forget.  But  I  must  do 
myself  the  honour  of  making  inquiries  earlier  than 
that,  and  if  I  do  not  presume  I  should  like  to  urge 
you  to  go  to  bed  the  moment  you  arrive.  These 
accidents  have  a  curiously  unexpected  effect  some- 


Founding  a  Friendship  25 

times,  in  the  way  of  a  shock  to  the  system,  not  at 
first  recognised.  I  hope  you  will  not  suffer  in  that 
way.  Your  arm  will  probably  require  massage.  My 
own  wife  once  sprained  her  wrist,  skating,  and  in  her 
case  massage  reduced  the  swelling  and  made  the 
wrist  supple  in  a  very  short  time."  After  a  pause 
he  added,  "If  my  daughter  had  lived,  she  would 
have  been  just  about  your  age." 

Miss  Garth  was  completely  reassured.  Mr. 
Strachan's  wife  was  now  in  all  probability  lunching 
with  the  abandoned  guests  at  the  Tuscany.  "You 
have  lost  your  daughter,"  she  murmured  impulsively. 
"I  may  say  I  am  sorry  for  you,  may  I  not?" 

"I  want  you  to  be  sorry  for  me,"  was  the  de- 
liberate answer.  "That  is  why  I  told  you.  I  lost 
the  girlie — and  her  mother — on  the  same  day.  Since 
then,  the  war  has  taken  away  my  only  son.  I  am 
quite  alone  in  the  world.  I  hope  you  pity  me." 

"Pity  you?  ...  It  must  be  hard  to  go  on  living 
after  such  bludgeonings  of  fate.  I  can't  think  how 
you  bear  it!" 

"I  don't  very  well  know  myself,"  was  his  answer, 
patient  with  a  dreariness  which  sounded  as  if  within 
measurable  distance  of  despair.  "But  if  it  is  any 
comfort  to  you  to  know  it,  you  have  helped  me  a  bit 
to-day.  For  my  lost  girl's  sake  I  want  to  be  good  to 
all  girls,  but  especially  to  those  engaged  in  that  fight 
with  the  world  which  we  call  earning  a  living.  I 
would  not  thrust  my  private  affairs  on  you  at  such 
short  notice,  but  I  wanted  you  to  know  what  a 


26         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

paternal  heart  I  have,  deprived  of  all  chance  to  do 
any  fathering  any  more." 

Out  of  the  sympathetic  silence  her  sweet  voice 
came  timidly  at  last. 

"Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown — your  cousins — they  have 
children,  I  suppose?" 

He  smiled  a  little.  "They  have.  But,  conversely, 
their  children  have  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown.  It  is 
hardly  conceivable  that  they  should  want  me,  though, 
unfortunately  it  is  conceivable  that  they  should  want 
my  money." 

"I  wish,"  she  said  warmly,  "that  I  could  help 
you  as  you  have  helped  me  to-day.  You  have  turned 
a  misfortune  into  something  almost  like  an  adven- 
ture, and  one  is  always  grateful  for  that.  Life  is  a 
bit  monotonous  for  a  worker.  Here  we  are  already. 
Only  a  short  drive;  and,  you  see,  I  am  all  right" — 
with  mischief.  "I  could  have  done  quite  well  with- 
out you." 

His  eyes  lit  up  in  response  with  a  deep  glow. 

"I  shall  expect  you  to  tea  on  Monday  at  four 
o'clock — don't  forget!"  she  admonished  him  as  he 
helped  her  carefully  out  and  rang  the  bell.  "And 
now  dash  back  to  the  hotel  and  make  your  peace 
with  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Brown." 

A  cold  wind  swept  down  the  grey  street  and 
whirled  dry  dust  against  the  inhospitable  concrete 
steps  of  the  barrack-like  building.  Over  her  shoul- 
ders she  laughed  at  him,  her  face  alight  with  an 
expression  in  which  gratitude  was  mingled  with 
humour,  and  both  with  a  further  something  which 


Founding  a  Friendship  27 

he  did  not  remember  ever  to  have  met  before — a 
nameless  attribute  which  he  longed  to  analyse. 

"I  had  not  believed,"  he  remarked,  "that  there 
were  girls  like  you  in  London." 

"Thousands  and  thousands  of  us,"  she  assured 
him  as  she  disappeared  indoors. 

"I  take  the  liberty  to  doubt  it,"  he  whispered  to 
himself  as  he  lost  sight  of  her. 


CHAPTER  III 

THE   CRANSTOUN-BROWNS   AT    HOME 


pretty  name  of  the  Cranstoun-Brown  resi- 
J_  dence  in  Streatwood  was  "Redmays."  It  had 
that  one  supreme  merit  which  most  such  houses 
lack,  of  being  named  suitably.  There  actually  was 
a  line  of  pink  hawthorns  just  within  the  iron  rail- 
ings which  fenced  the  carriage  sweep  off  from  the 
road. 

In  the  garden  borders  hyacinths  and  daffodils  were 
already  past  the  glory  of  their  blooming.  The  lilacs 
were  in  bud;  the  pink  mays  would  not  be  long  be- 
fore they  showed  their  rosy  heart. 

Within,  a  fairly  commodious  entrance  hall  lay 
between  a  dining-room  on  the  one  hand  and  a  draw- 
ing-room on  the  other.  The  stairs  were  at  the  back, 
and  behind  the  dining-room,  looking  towards  the 
garden,  was  a  morning-room  which  was  the  resort 
of  all  the  family  except  on  occasions  when  there  was 
company. 

In  a  shabby  old  arm-chair  Phyllis  Brown  now 
lounged,  her  feet  within  the  fender,  a  thrilling  novel 
in  her  hand.  Tea  was  spread  upon  a  table  behind 
her,  but  nobody  had  as  yet  appeared  to  share  it  with 
her.  She  was  a  substantially  built  girl,  not  ill-look- 
ing, but  heavy  in  type,  with  coarse  hands  and  thick 

28 


The  Cranstoun- Browns  at  Home      29 

ankles.  Her  hair  was  elaborately  arranged,  and  her 
attire  showed  that  she  bestowed  a  good  deal  of 
attention  upon  her  appearance. 

The  sound  of  the  hall-door  opening  and  closing 
was  heard,  an  umbrella  rattled  in  the  stand,  an  ener- 
getic footfall  approached,  and  the  second  Miss 
Brown  entered.  Veronica  was  several  years  younger 
than  Phyllis,  long  and  lithe,  with  a  pale  face  and 
keen  dark  eyes,  which  were  really  beautiful  had  they 
been  less  hard  in  expression. 

"Oh,  my  word!"  said  she,  dropping  into  a  chair 
and  attacking  the  teapot  with  vigour.  "Commit- 
tees! Committees!  This  thing'll  turn  my  hair 
grey." 

"Why  d'you  do  it,  then?"  grunted  her  sister 
shortly.  "Nobody  asked  you  to." 

"Nobody  asked  me!  I  like  that!  When  the 
whole  Association  came  begging  and  praying " 

"Nonsense.  They'd  have  done  much  better  if 
you'd  refused.  They'd  have  got  Mrs.  Varick  then." 

"She  wouldn't  have  taken  it,"  cried  Vee  passion- 
ately. "She's  too  lazy.  She  wouldn't  have  put  in 
the  work  I  do!" 

"You've  only  gone  in  for  it  because  the  war  un- 
settled you,"  observed  Phyllis  calmly.  She  uncov- 
ered the  hot  scones  and  helped  herself  liberally. 
"You  got  used  to  flying  all  over  the  place,  and  now 
you  can't  sit  down  quietly  at  home.  Well — all 
right!  Do  as  you  please.  But  don't  make  a  virtue 
of  it." 

"What's  put  you  in  such  a  beastly  temper?"  de- 


30         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

manded  Vera,  dabbing  her  buttered  scone  with 
marmalade. 

"I'm  not  in  a  temper.  I've  had  a  very  comfy 
afternoon,  with  Ma  out  of  the  way,"  replied  the 
elder  girl,  stretching.  "This  book  is  jolly  good. 
Scrumptious  love-scenes.  You  ought  to  read  it " 

"No  time  for  tommy-rot.  Is  the  duplicator  in 
order?  I've  got  seventy  notices  to  print  off  this 
evening." 

The  hall-door  was  heard  to  bang,  and  the  sisters 
looked  at  each  other. 

"Never  Ma  back !  I  thought  the  American  cousin 
would  be  safe  to  take  her  to  a  matinee,"  murmured 
Vee.  "Can  it  be  Pa?" 

"No.  He's  going  to  stay  in  town  for  his  company 
dinner.  It  is  Ma,"  replied  Phyllis,  listening;  and  as 
she  spoke,  Mrs.  Cranstoun-Brown  walked  in. 

"Hallo!"  said  Vee,  pouring  out  another  cup  of 
tea.  "So  Cousin  George  didn't  suggest  a  theatre?" 

"No;  he  didn't.  We  lunched  too  late,"  was  the 
reply,  in  a  tone  which  caused  the  girl  to  study  her 
parent's  face  critically. 

"Disappointed,  Ma?  Did  he  give  himself  airs? 
No  use  for  his  suburban  family?" 

"On  the  contrary.  He  is  most  anxious  to  know 
you  all.  He  suggests  that  he  should  come  here  on 
a  visit." 

"Houp-la!"  cried  Vee,  pushing  back  her  chair. 
"When  is  he  coming?  Fate  send  us  a  parlourmaid 
before  then!" 

Mrs.  Brown  sat  wrapped  in  cogitation.    "It  won't 


The  Cranstoun-Browns  at  Home      31 

be  quite  yet.  He  seems  to  have  a  good  deal  of  busi- 
ness to  transact.  I  think  I  had  better  ask  Foster 
to  stay  on,  don't  you?" 

"Raise  her  wages,  without  hesitation,"  cried  Vee, 
and  at  the  same  moment 

"Describe  Cousin  George.  Is  he  tremendously 
Yankee?  Does  he  carry  much  sail?"  demanded 
Phyllis. 

"Not  at  all.  He  is  grave  and  quiet.  He  doesn't 
seem  to  have  got  over  his  bereavement  yet.  He 
won't  speak  of  it." 

"Well,  I  suppose  it's  up  to  us  to  cheer  him  with 
our  pretty  girlish  wiles,"  remarked  Vera,  taking  the 
last  bit  of  teacake. 

Her  mother  darted  a  suspicious  glance  at  her  from 
those  eyes  which  in  their  hardness  and  smallness 
suggested  onyx  beads.  The  gift  of  irony  had  been1 
omitted  from  Mrs.  Brown's  mental  make-up.  Her 
youngest  daughter  was  an  enigma  which  she  some- 
times felt  that  she  disliked.  "None  of  your  show- 
ing off,  Vee,  when  your  cousin  comes,"  she  said 
heavily.  "Canteen  jokes  won't  be  appreciated.  This 
is  serious,  mind.  He  is  very  rich,  and  but  for  your 
Aunt  Nicholson  we  are  his  only  kin." 

"What  about  his  wife's  family?"  asked  Vee 
briskly.  "He  may  have  a  dozen  nephews  and  nieces 
out  in  Canada." 

"He  hasn't,  however.  Did  you  never  hear  how 
he  married  his  wife  out  of  an  orphanage?" 

"She  has  my  gratitude.  Few  women  are  so  con- 
siderate of  their  husband's  family,"  retorted  Vee. 


32         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"Well,  let's  arrange  how  we  can  best  make  ourselves 
disagreeable  to  him.  I'm  glad  he's  grave  and  quiet. 
That  kind  of  old  buffer  generally  likes  me.  I  shall 
be  flippant,  and  he  will  think  me  witty." 

"You  seem  to  forget  that  I'm  the  elder,"  said 
Phyllis.  "My  turn  first." 

"He  wouldn't  be  likely  to  bestow  all  his  cash  on 
one  and  leave  out  the  others." 

"Ah,  but  what  if  he  should  marry  one  of  us?" 
asked  Phyllis  triumphantly,  rising  and  looking  at 
herself  in  the  chimney  glass.  "He's  only  our  cousm 
removed,  which  is  nothing,  and  he's  not  too  old  to 
marry  again." 

"My  dear,  he's  fifty !"  cried  her  mother. 

Vera  laughed.  "But  old  Phyl  is  right.  He  is 
just  the  age  when,  if  they  do  these  things,  they  do 
them  with  a  rush.  He  feels  he  is  not  too  old  for  a 
bit  of  pleasure,  but  he  knows  how  jolly  soon  he  will 
be !  However,  Phyl,  don't  suppose  I  am  going  to 
let  you  pocket  him  without  a  struggle." 

"How  vulgar,  how  deplorable !"  cried  their 
mother,  rising  with  the  rustle  of  offended  delicacy. 
"I  am  sure  I  never  brought  you  up  to  talk  like  this. 
That  odious  war " 

"Oh,  leave  out  the  poor  war!"  impatiently  from 
Phyl.  "It's  just  Vee's  University  training." 

"You  could  have  gone  to  Oxford  if  you  had 
wanted  to,  Phyl,  so  don't  start  grousing  about  that." 

"I  never  enter  upon  a  war  of  words  with  you, 
Vee,"  said  Phyl,  with  dignity.  "I  don't  claim  to 


The  Cranstoun-Browns  at  Home     33 

possess  a  bitter  tongue,  and  I  don't  want  the  last 
word." 

Vee  laughed  softly  as  she  picked  up  her  furs  and 
gloves  and  walked  out  of  the  room,  remarking  that 
grapes  were  sometimes  sour.  Her  mother  looked 
darkly  after  her. 

"I  do  wish  Vee  would  not  go  on  as  she  does." 

"You  needn't  be  afraid,"  replied  Phyllis  with 
bitterness.  "Vee  knows  which  side  her  bread  is 
buttered.  When  Cousin  George  comes,  she  will  be 
an  angel — trust  her!" 

"I  never  thought  to  find  myself  wishing  that  one 
of  you  would  marry,  but  I  do  wish  it.  Nothing  but 
bicker,  bicker." 

"Oh  well,  come,  Mother,  Vee  takes  herself  off 
to  this  precious  secretaryship  every  day — we  don't 
get  too  much  of  her.  It  must  fall  to  me  to  take 
Cousin  George  for  walks,  and  to  call  upon  our 
friends.  I  hope  we  shall  be  able  to  amuse  him." 
Her  voice  did  not  suggest  any  doubt  of  her  ability 
to  do  so. 

"We  must  give  a  dinner-party,  I  suppose,"  mused 
her  mother  aloud,  "and  since  the  war  I'm  grown  out 
of  practice !  I  suppose  I  shall  have  to  pay  the  waiter 
double,  as  well  as  the  frightful  cost  of  everything 
else.  Well — I  must  think  it  over.  Is  Gil  in  or  out 
this  evening?" 

"Going  out  directly  after  dinner." 

"Then  tell  Foster  no  fire  in  the  drawing-room." 
The  lady  paused,  her  expression  lowering.  "Gil  is 
always  out." 


34         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"No  wonder,"  muttered  Phyl  indistinctly. 

Her  mother  turned  on  her.  "You  say,  'No 
wonder'?" 

"There's  no  place  here  where  he  can  sit  and  smoke 
comfortably,  or  ask  a  friend  to  join  him." 

"Upon  my  word,  Phyllis!" 

"Well,  Ma!  Here  is  Gil,  who  was  a  temporary 
captain,  commanding  men  and  earning  quite  big 
money,  and  you  expect  him  to  settle  down  again  to 
live  at  home  as  if  he  was  eighteen!  Mrs.  Varick 
is  so  sorry  for  him." 

Mrs.  Brown's  eyes  snapped.  "Oh,  is  Mrs.  Varick 
sorry  for  him?"  said  she  slowly.  "Well,  that  would 
be  no  bad  thing,  would  it?" 

"Jolly  nice,"  agreed  Phyllis;  "but  she  wouldn't 
— why  ever  should  she?  Poor  old  Gil!  And  she 
with  her  money  and  her  beauty — and  she  must  be 
four  or  five  years  older  than  he  is." 

"Mrs.  Varick  and  her  brother  are  quite  the  nicest 
people  in  Streatwood,"  remarked  Mrs.  Brown 
thoughtfully.  "We  must  ask  them  to  meet  George 
Strachan." 

An  hour  later  the  son  of  the  house  arrived  home 
and  admitted  himself  with  the  latch-key  for  which 
he  had  successfully  contended  when  his  military 
career  came  to  a  close.  He  was  a  big  man,  holding 
himself  with  the  well-drilled  air  of  the  ex-officer, 
but  somewhat  clumsy  in  type,  nevertheless.  He  was 
clean-shaven  and  had  inherited  his  mother's  heavy 
jaw.  Phyllis  was  still  lounging  by  the  morning-room 


The  Cranstoun-Browns  at  Home      35 

fire  when  he  peeped  in,  and  he  remarked  with  sar- 
casm, "Keeping  the  fire  warm  as  usual." 

"Urn !"  was  the  reply,  the  young  lady's  eyes  being 
glued  to  the  love  scene  on  the  page  before  her. 

"Mater  back?  Met  the  Splendid  Cousin  all 
right?" 

This  theme  was  of  interest  enough  to  induce  her 
to  close  her  book.  "Yes;  they  met  all  right,  but  she 
doesn't  seem  particularly  bucked  over  it.  However, 
she  says  he  was  very  cordial  and  is  coming  down 
here  to  stay  with  us." 

"Perhaps  he  was  a  bit  let  down,"  suggested  Gil. 
"The  mater  hasn't  got  younger  and  more  beautiful 
since  he  last  saw  her." 

"You'll  have  to  pull  yourself  together,  Gil,  and 
do  the  devoted  son  while  the  Ontario  millionaire  is 
about.  Ma  is  on  the  war-path  about  your  never 
being  at  home  of  an  evening." 

The  man's  brow  darkened. 

"I'm  about  fed,"  said  he,  "and  so  I  shall  say  to 
her  if  she  tackles  me.  I  wish  this  man  would  find 
room  for  me  in  his  lumber  business.  I'd  chuck  my 
present  job  in  two  twos  if  he'd  take  me  out  there." 

Phyl  yawned.  Her  brother  and  his  concerns  were 
not,  and  never  had  been,  of  any  interest  to  her. 

"From  what  men  tell  me,  I  shouldn't  advise 
Canada  if  you  want  to  have  a  good  time,"  she  re- 
marked. "However,  if  he  falls  in  love  with  me,  and 
takes  me  over  there  when  he  goes  back,  I'll  promise 
to  do  what  I  can  for  you." 

"You're  jolly  kind,"  with  sarcasm.    "I  expect  to 


36         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

enjoy  the  spectacle  of  my  entire  family  grovelling 
to  the  golden  calf." 

"You'll  be  as  bad  as  any  of  us,"  was  the  retort. 
"But  I'm  not  afraid  of  you.  It's  Vee  who  will  lead 
him  on  a  string,  unless  I  can  be  too  quick  for  her." 

He  laughed.  "You'll  have  to  get  up  pretty  early 
in  the  morning  to  get  ahead  of  Vee.  By  the  way, 
where  is  she  ?  I  want  to  ask  her  if  Mrs.  Varick  gave 
her  a  message  *or  me." 


CHAPTER  IV 

A   CURIOUS   REQUEST 

WHEN  George  Strachan  made  his  visit  of  in- 
quiry at  the  Trenby  Hostel,  he  was  shown 
into  a  big,  gaunt  drawing-room. 

At  that  hour — about  midday — the  room  was  un- 
tenanted,  and  the  emptiness  and  the  full  daylight 
accentuated  its  shabbiness  and  drabness  of  tint. 
Manlike,  he  ignored  the  fact  that  the  elderly  chairs 
were  comfortable ;  that  the  floor,  with  its  loose  rugs,( 
could  easily  be  made  ready  for  an  impromptu  dance; 
and  that  the  platform  at  one  end,  holding  a  piano, 
would  become  a  stage  on  the  mere  dropping  of  a 
curtain. 

These,  the  main  concomitants  for  the  happiness 
of  a  contingent  of  lively  girls,  forced  to  sit  still  in 
offices  all  day,  were  duly  present  at  the  Hostel.  The 
millionaire,  however,  thought  only: 

"And  this  is  all  the  home  the  poor  child  has !" 

Miss  Garth  was  up  and  dressed,  and  she  did  not 
keep  him  waiting.  He  had  been  wondering,  as  he 
came  along,  whether  his  remembrance  of  her  was 
unduly  favourable.  But  when  she  entered,  he  knew 
it  was  the  other  way  about.  She  did  not  wear  her 
office  suit  now,  but  was  clothing  in  a  most  becoming 
shade  of  powder  blue,  her  crisped  hair  snooded  with 

37 


38         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

a  band  of  velvet  the  same  shade,  so  as  to  conceal  the 
big  bruise  on  her  brow.  Her  left  arm  was  in  a  sling, 
and  she  looked  somewhat  pale;  but  he  saw,  in  one 
swift  appraisement,  her  distinction,  her  fineness  of 
quality,  the  subtle  nature  of  her  charm. 

"Good  morning,  Good  Samaritan,"  said  she  mis- 
chievously; but  she  coloured  as  she  gave  him  her 
hand. 

"Samaritan  1  Somebody  outside  the  pale,  am  I? 
Well,  I  must  try  and  live  down  that  reproach." 

"Ah,  you  know  what  I  mean !  You  came  to  the 
rescue  of  a  total  stranger — not  even  of  your  own 
nation." 

"Not  at  all.  I  am  as  English  as  you  are.  I  went 
out  to  the  Dominion  many  years  ago;  but  I  was 
born  in  Westmorland." 

She  gave  a  start  and  her  face  kindled.  "In  West- 
morland! Why,  so  was  I "  she  broke  off  so 

suddenly  as  to  leave  the  impression  that  she  re- 
gretted having  imparted  the  information. 

"I  hope  you  think  that  constitutes  a  basis  for 
friendship?"  he  ventured. 

She  liked  the  deliberate  sentences  he  used.  His 
foreign  intonation  gave  weight  to  his  most  ordinary 
utterances.  She  admitted  that  their  community  of 
county  did  constitute  a  basis  for  friendship;  but 
nevertheless  she  switched  off  the  talk  at  once  to  an- 
other topic. 

"Before  we  chat  comfortably,"  said  she,  "I  want 
to  put  things  right.  I  was  feeling  so  unwell  on  the 
lay  of  my  accident  that  I  could  not  collect  my 


A  Curious  Request  39 

thoughts.  I  know  you  incurred  some  expenses  for 
me,  and  I  want  to  get  out  of  your  debt." 

He  looked  so  hurt  that  she  had  almost  said:  "I 
beg  your  pardon." 

"I  shall  feel  rather  badly  if  you  will  not  let  me 
do  that  very  little  for  you.  Just  now  you  informed 
me  that  you  regard  me  as  a  Samaritan.  Let  me 
point  out  that  the  gentleman  in  question  was  allowed 
to  put  down  the  price  of  the  sick  man's  hotel,  not  to 
mention  the  taxi — I  should  say,  the  ass." 

Miss  Garth  looked  under  her  eyelashes  to  make 
sure  that  this  was  not  serious,  and  detected  the  genial 
curve  of  the  strong  lips. 

"I  wish  I  hadn't  made  that  silly  comparison.  I 
see  the  cases  are  not  a  bit  alike.  That  sick  man  had 
been  robbed." 

"So  had  you — of  one  of  your  hands!  No,  the 
wounded  man  in  the  story  was  not  proud,  and  you 
are.  Come  now!  If  I  let  you  call  me  a  Samaritan, 
surely  I  may  claim  his  privileges?" 

She  opened  her  mouth  for  further  protest,  but, 
faced  by  something  in  his  eyes,  she  never  made  it. 
"Oh,"  said  she,  "you  really  are  impracticable !" 

"Yes,  I've  been  told  before  that  I'm  a  tough  prop- 
osition," was  his  amused  rejoinder.  "But  anyway, 
I  hope  you  are  better." 

"I'm  quite  well  .  .  .  were  your  friends  in  a  very 
bad  temper  when  you  got  back?" 

"Not  very.  The  food  was  good.  That  mollified 
them  some.  Then  we  talked.  It  seems  to  me  that 


40         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

in  England  people  work  very  hard  for  mighty  poor 
results,"  he  commented  meditatively. 

"I  suppose  that's  true.  We  girl  clerks  are  better 
paid  than  we  used  to  be,  but  our  pay  hardly  keeps 
pace  with  the  price  of  things.  We  can  only  just  get 
along,  and  we  can  hardly  put  by  for  old  age  without 
forgoing  everything  that  makes  youth  gay.  I  think 
there  is  much  excuse  for  such  girls  if  they  break 
away.  When  a  chance  comes — a  temptation  that 
seems  to  offer  something  different — they  leap  for  it, 
and  only  find  out  what  a  fraud  it  is,  far,  far  too  late." 

He  looked  gravely  sympathetic.  uln  my  office  in 
Ontario,  my  stenographers  are  paid  a  living  wage 
from  the  first,"  he  said. 

The  girl  laughed.  "I  had  better  go  out  to 
Ontario." 

"You  might  do  worse.  But  there  is  another  ar- 
rangement I  would  like  you  to  consider.  I  came 
here  to  put  it  before  you.  This  is  no  Good  Samari- 
tan stunt,  but  a  business  proposition.  I  am  here  in 
London  without  a  secretary,  and  I  want  one  badly. 
Until  I  got  over  this  side,  I  did  not  realise  what  a 
scourge  the  correspondence  was  going  to  be.  I  would 
like  you  to  be  my  secretary.  If  not  you,  then  I  must 
engage  a  stranger.  But  I  would  rather  have  you, 
for  a  particular  reason." 

"Yes?"  she  was  greatly  interested. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "as  I  have  told  you,  I  am  a 
widower  and  childless.  I  am  also  counted  a  rich 
man.  I  have  by  way  of  relatives,  only  two  cousins, 
Mrs.  Nicholson  and  Mrs.  Cranstoun-Brown.  I  in- 


A  Curious  Request  41 

tend  to  pay  visits  to  both  these  cousins.  Mrs. 
Nicholson  has  no  children,  but  Mrs.  Cranstoun- 
Brown  has  three — a  son  and  two  daughters.  I  am 
anxious  to  make  a  will,  and  my  disposal  of  my  money 
will  be  guided  by  what  I  see  of  the  character  and 
capacities  of  these  young  folks.  The  difficulty  lies 
in  the  fact  that  I  tan  never  hope,  in  the  circum- 
stances, to  see  any  of  my  relatives,  young  or  old,  as 
they  really  are.  You  understand?" 

"I — think  so— —yes,  of  course,  I  do." 

"Of  course,  you  do.  You  would.  I  have  always 
known,  from  the  first  words  you  spoke  to  me,  that 
you  are  very  able.  If  you  are  my  secretary,  I  can 
take  you  with  me,  to  visit  both  the  Nicholsons  and 
the  Cranstoun-Browns;  and  you  will  be  able  to  give 
me  your  opinion." 

The  girl's  eyes  rose  to  meet  his  with  a  flash  of 
comprehension.  Then  she  lowered  them;  and  the 
oddness  of  her  expression  forced  itself  on  his  atten- 
tion. She  looked  strongly  tempted,  but  beset  with 
doubts.  He  watched  her  keenly. 

"Isn't  it  a  very  strange  thing  to  ask  me  to  do? 
These  people  are  your  own  kin." 

"Well — hardly.  The  relationship  is  not  close. 
I  don't  think  I  understand  either  my  cousin  or  her 
Husband.  Moreover,  I  am  beginning  to  suppose  that 
money  warps  the  mind  a  little.  There  seemed  to  me 
something  noticeably  sycophantic  in  the  manner  of 
both  the  Cranstoun-Browns.  But  I  may  do  them 
an  injustice.  In  short,  I  will  not  trust  my  own  un- 
aided judgment." 


42         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

She  laughed  unsteadily.  "You  have  made  up 
your  mind  about  me,  but  are  not  sure  of  them?" 

He  contemplated  her  unruffled.  "I  am  a  business 
man,  and  I  have  trained  myself  to  observe,"  he  said. 
"In  such  matters  I  do  not  make  mistakes.  It  is  only 
in  this  case,  where  this  detestable  money  question 
comes  in,  that  I  distrust  my  impressions." 

She  turned  aside,  and  did  not  speak.  Evidently 
she  was  torn  with  indecision. 

"See  here,"  said  he  after  a  moment.  "You  can't 
use  a  typewriter  yet,  but  I  think  you  are  well  enough 
to  answer  letters  by  hand.  Come  to  the  hotel  for  a 
few  days,  and  help  me  to  tackle  my  arrears?  Then 
you  can  see  how  you  like  working  with  me?"  As 
she  did  not  immediately  reply,  he  added:  "I  am 
not  mistaken  in  supposing  that  you  do  this  kind  of 
thing  for  a  living?" 

She  started.  "Oh,  no,  there  is  no  mistake  about 
that!" 

"And  you  are  at  present  without  regular  employ- 
ment?" 

"That  is  also  true,  I  regret  to  say." 

"Yet  you  are  very  doubtful  about  taking  my  job? 
You  don't  precisely  jump  at  it.  Is  it  because  we 
have  made  acquaintance  with  nobody  to  introduce 
us?" 

She  coloured  slightly.    "Perhaps." 

"If  an  employer  wished  to  engage  you,  what  steps 
would  he  take  ?  He  would  go  to  a  bureau  and  make 
inquiries?" 

"Probably." 


A  Curious  Request  43 

"And  would  they  take  up  his  references  before 
allowing  a  young  lady  like  yourself  to  enter  his 
employ?" 

"N-no.    I  don't  think  they  do  that." 

"Well,  then?" 

She  met  his  droll  smile  and  laughed.  "I'm  really 
not  so  prudish,"  said  she.  "The  reason  why  I  hesi- 
tated was — was  quite  different.  Of  course,  I  will 
come  to  work  for  you  to-morrow,  if  you  will  allow 
me  not  to  make  any  definite  reply  about  the  perma- 
nent secretaryship." 

As  she  spoke,  the  door  was  flung  open,  and  a 
page-boy  entered  with  a  card  on  a  salver.  He  stood 
gazing  vaguely  round,  and  then  addressed  himself 
to  Miss  Garth. 

"  'Scuse  me,  Miss,  is  there  a  young  lady  staying 
here,  name  of  the  Honourable  Miss  Osbourne?" 

Miss  Garth  sprang  to  her  feet,  and  as  suddenly 
re-seated  herself.  "I  don't  think  so — why?" 

The  boy  consulted  the  card.  "Lord  Clement 
Vyner  has  called  to  see  her,"  said  he. 

"Go  and  tell  the  gentleman  he  has  made  a  mis- 
take. .  .  .  Or  perhaps  you  had  better  ask  Miss  Kay 
first.  She  may  be  expecting  the  lady." 

The  boy  vanished  and  her  visitor  stood  up  to  go. 
They  parted  cordially,  with  the  arrangement  that  she 
was  to  present  herself  at  the  Tuscany  at  ten  o'clock 
the  following  morning. 

As  Strachan  passed  out,  he  encountered  a  well- 
dressed  man  with  a  sulky  face,  standing  in  the  en- 
trance hall.  As  he  approached,  the  stranger  ad- 


44         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

dressed  him.  "Are  you  a  visitor?"  he  asked 
abruptly. 

"I  am,"  replied  Strachan,  rather  surprised. 

"Then  they  do  allow  visitors  of  our  sex?" 

"I  had  no  difficulty." 

"Thanks,  thanks,"  said  his  lordship  with  a  nod; 
and  Strachan  passed  out. 

A  moment  later  Miss  Garth  opened  the  drawing- 
room  door  and  emerged  upon  the  long  passage. 

Lord  Clement  stood  at  the  far  end  of  it,  but  she 
was  visible  to  him  as  he  stood,  and  he  started  for- 
ward with  a  sharp  exclamation,  bitten  off  between 
his  teeth. 

The  girl's  eyes  had  hardly  fallen  upon  him  before 
she  turned  aside  and  vanished  from  sight  through  a 
swing  door. 

"Charis!  Stop!  What  is  the  use  of  this  be- 
haviour? I  must  have  a  word  with  you." 

He  was  hard  in  pursuit.  It  took  him,  however, 
some  appreciable  time  to  reach  the  swing  door;  and 
when  he  opened  it,  he  saw  a  staircase,  leading  both 
up  and  down,  and  also  three  doors,  all  closed.  There 
was  no  sign  or  sound  of  his  quarry.  He  hesitated, 
but  decided  that  he  dare  not  risk  opening  doors,  or 
ascending  stairs,  in  a  strange  place.  The  clatter  of 
the  page-boy,  charging  down  the  main  staircase 
behind  him,  decided  him  to  return  to  the  entrance, 
which  he  regained  just  as  the  boy  reached  the  bottom 
stair. 

"Miss  Kay's  compliments,  my  lord,  and  there's 


A  Curious  Request  45 

no  Honourable  Miss  Osbourne  here,  and  she  ain't 
applied  for  rooms  either." 

"Who  is  the  lady  who  was  in  the  drawing-room 
when  you  took  in  my  card?" 

"Miss  Garth?" 

"Exactly.     I  should  like  to  see  Miss  Garth." 

The  boy's  countenance  expressed  suspicion. 
"Names  not  much  alike,  my  lord." 

"Of  course  not.  Miss  Garth  is  Miss  Osbourne's 
friend.  I  am  sure  she  would  know  her  address." 

The  boy  hesitated.  "Shall  I  go  and  ask  her,  my 
lord?" 

The  flustered  visitor  produced  a  shilling  and  was 
ushered  into  the  vacant  drawing-room. 

His  messenger  was  absent  a  weary  while,  and  in 
the  interval  the  clanging  of  a  great  bell  announced 
that  the  hostel  was  about  to  lunch. 

At  last  the  page's  round  face  was  seen  again. 

"Miss  Garth's  gone  out,  sir.  Miss  Kay  said  I 
was  to  tell  you  that  she  won't  be  in  all  day." 

"Can  you  tell  me  at  what  hour  I  should  be  most 
likely  to  find  her  in?" 

"You  won't  find  her  at  all,  sir,  not  after  to-day, 
She's  leaving  to-morrow,  Miss  Kay  said." 

"I  suppose  they  would  forward  letters?" 

"I  suppose  so,  my  lord." 


CHAPTER  V 

WHO  IS  MISS  GARTH? 

IT  was  so  long  since  George  Strachan  had  awak- 
ened from  sleep  with  that  sense  of  pleasurable 
anticipation  which  makes  the  zest  of  life,  that  when 
this  miracle  happened  in  his  comfortable  quarters  at 
the  Tuscany  he  was  at  a  loss  to  account  for  it;  and  it 
was  only  by  degrees  that  he  traced  his  uplifted  spirits 
to  the  recollection  that  his  new  secretary  was  to  ar- 
rive that  morning. 

It  was  with  a  feeling  of  entering  farther  into  an 
interesting  experience  that  he  awaited  her  arrival 
after  breakfast.  The  weather  was  still  cold,  with 
the  unrelenting  severity  of  an  English  spring,  and 
the  fire  leapt  and  crackled  on  the  hearth.  Never- 
theless, the  sun  was  shining,  and  his  room  faced 
south,  across  the  ripples  of  the  slow  highway  of  the 
great  little  Thames. 

The  girl  of  whom  he  was  thinking  so  pleasurably 
came  in  smiling,  her  hands  full  of  daffodils. 

"Here,"  said  she,  holding  up  the  flowers  to  his 
face,  "here  is  the  taxi-fare  you  would  not  let  me 
pay,  transmuted  into  pure  gold." 

"In  this  form,"  he  replied,  "I  will  take  it  gladly; 
and  the  more  gladly  because,  you  know,  it  constitutes 
a  precedent." 

46 


Who  is  Miss  Garth?  47 

"Oh,  don't  be  too  confident!  I  can't  afford  to  do 
it  often." 

"Naturally.  The  point  is,  what  you  may  do,  I 
may  do.  You  have  asked  me  to  tea  and  given  me 
flowers.  That  establishes  my  claim  to  do  likewise." 

His  eye  was  whimsical.     She  laughed  with  him. 

"Like  Touchstone,  you  are  very  swift  and  senten- 
tious," said  she.  "I  see  that  I  must  be  careful,  and 
walk  warily.  And  now  let  us  settle  down  to  work, 
for  I  must  leave  early  to-day." 

"Why,  what  have  you  on  foot?"  he  asked,  as  he 
laid  bundles  of  letters  on  the  table. 

"I'm  leaving  the  Trenby  Hostel,"  she  said  quietly. 

"Indeed!"  He  was  surprised.  "You  said 
nothing  of  that  to  me  yesterday." 

"I  was  occupying  another  girl's  room,  on  the 
understanding  that  she  must  have  it  if  she  came  back; 
and  she  wants  it,"  said  Miss  Garth.  As  she  spoke, 
she  coloured  brightly,  and  Strachan  felt  that  he  had 
been  inquisitive.  He  apologised,  and  no  more  was 
said,  for  they  plunged  into  the  morning's  work.  But 
his  active  mind  was  at  work.  Could  her  sudden 
flight  be  connected  with  the  visit  of  the  gilded  youth 
he  had  seen  in  the  entrance  hall  of  the  Hostel  the 
previous  day? 

It  was  not  until  she  stood  up  to  go  that  he  asked 
her  what  her  future  address  would  be.  She  told 
him  she  was  going  to  a  small  hotel  for  ladies  only, 
in  St.  George's  Square,  but  that  this  was  merely  a 
temporary  refuge.  "I  have  not  decided  where  I  am 
going,"  she  owned,  with  a  somewhat  troubled  mien. 


48          The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"I  think,"  remarked  he,  "that  I  had  better  fix 
up  my  visit  to  Streatwood,  and  take  you  with  me." 

She  was  evidently  tempted.  "Streatwood?  Is 
that  where  Mr.  and  Mrs.  Cranstoun-Brown  live?" 

"Yes.  It  is  they  who  have  the  young  people,  and 
young  people  interest  me.  The  visit  to  Mr.  and 
Mrs.  Nicholson,  who  live  in  the  north  of  England, 
can  wait." 

"In  the  north?" 

The  question  was  swift. 

"Between  Brough  and  Teesdale."  She  made  no 
comment,  but  sat  very  still  as  though  meditating 
deeply. 

"Well?"  he  said  at  last;  and  she  started. 

"I  want  to  talk  to  you  about — about  what  you 
suggested  to  me  yesterday,"  said  she  at  last. 

"Well — does  anything  prevent  your  talking  right 
now?" 

"Yes,"  she  smiled.  "Something  does.  I  don't 
wish  to  say  anything  which  may  sound  critical  of 
you." 

"Plenary  dispensation  accorded  beforehand.  Pro- 
ceed." 

"Well  .  .  .  that  was  a  curious  thing  you  wanted 
me  to  do,  was  it  not?  You  want  to  employ  me,  prac- 
tically, as  a  spy — upon  your  own  cousins." 

"Almost,  but  not  quite,"  was  the  imperturbable 
answer.  "Let  me  point  out  that  what  I  want  is  not 
a  spy,  but  a  critic.  A  spy  would  betray  confidences, 
and  that  I  would  not  wish.  I  desire  an  opinion  of 


Who  is  Miss  Garth?  49 

the  family  from  a  complete  stranger,  and  one  from 
Tvhom  they  can  expect  no  favours." 

"Yes,  but  they  will  be  off  guard  before  me.  It 
is  taking  an  unfair  advantage,  surely." 

"I  think  not.  If  a  person  have  two  manners,  one 
for  the  individual  he  may  desire  to  conciliate,  the 
other  for  those  who  are  more  or  less  at  his  mercy, 
the  mere  fact  stamps  that  character.  But  I  am  so 
placed  with  regard  to  these  particular  people,  that  I 
can  hardly  test  the  point  myself.  I  want  your  judg- 
ment. I  don't  ask  for  the  data  on  which  you  base 
it.  You  are  a  disinterested  spectator.  The  manner 
in  which  I  dispose  of  my  wealth  cannot  matter  to  you. 
You  have  no  prejudices  with  regard  to  these  folks." 

"No.  But  likes  and  dislikes  are  odd  things.  It  is 
hard  to  be  quite  free  of  pettiness.  Are  you  not 
afraid  that  I  might  pay  out  your  nieces  for  some  real 
or  imagined  snub  by  running  them  down  to  you?" 

"Not  a  bit.  I  have  the  greatest  confidence  in  you; 
and  I  need  you  badly.  People  sometimes  talk  as  if 
the  disposal  of  a  fortune  were  unimportant,  but  it  is 
never  that.  I  am  the  last  surviving  Strachan  of  our 
family,  and  I  feel  I  have  a  duty  to  fulfil  as  regards 
mine.  I  want  to  act  wisely,  and  I  believe  you  can 
help  me  to  do  so.  The  Browns  are  not  poor  people. 
They  have  enough  to  live  upon ;  and  if  they  are  small- 
minded,  or  greedy,  or  vicious,  they  will  be  better 
without  riches.  I  am  not  asking  you  to  spy,  but  sim- 
ply to  report.  Do  you  think  you  can  do  it?" 

"I  am  pretty  sure  that  I  could  do  it." 
"But  you  hesitate?" 


50         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"For  the  remarkable  reason  that  I  want  so  much 
to  go  to  Streatwood  with  you,  that  I  hardly  dare 
consent  .  .  .  yet  ...  if  you  come  to  think  of  it, 
I  shall  be  no  more  a  spy  than  is  any  inquirer  who  sets 
himself  to  study  the  psychology  of  those  with  whom 
he  is  thrown  into  contact.  One  would  not  call  Henry 
James  a  spy,  for  example." 

"Quite  so.  Neither  would  I  call  a  headmaster  a 
spy,  when  he  consults  his  prefects  on  the  tone  of 
the  school." 

Her  eyes  flashed  approval.  "An  apt  illustration ! 
Well,  now,  may  I  bore  you  with  a  little  personal 
history?" 

"Go  right  ahead,"  he  replied  with  delight. 

"I  told  you  yesterday  that  I  was  born  in  West- 
morland. Our  village — and  we  didn't  even  live  in 
the  village — was  seven  miles  from  a  railway  station. 
I  had  very  few  companions,  and  they  were  all  of  one 
class  and  type.  They  all  thought  the  same  thoughts ; 
held  the  same  opinions,  used  the  same  cliches.  Well, 
I'm  ambitious,  I  want  to  be  more  than  a  secretary — 
I  aspire  to  write  a  book.  But  I  have  to  gather  some 
experience  first.  I  broke  free,  and  came  away  in 
order  to  find  out  how  the  world  went.  I  have  loved 
being  in  the  Hostel,  seeing  how  girls  live — but  most 
of  all  I  have  craved  a  chance  to  go  right  into  the 
family  of  such  people  as  I  imagine  your  cousins  to 
be  ...  I  thought  you  ought  to  know  this,  it  might 
change  your  views  as  to  the  expediency  of  taking  me 
with  you." 

"Why  so?" 


Who  is  Miss  Garth?  51 

"At  least  it  seemed  right  to  assure  you  that,  if 
I  do  go  there  with  you,  I  will  take  no  unfair  advan- 
tage in  print.  I  won't  put  your  family  into  my  book 
so  that  anyone  could  know  them." 

"Thank  you,"  he  said,  with  considerable  amuse- 
ment. "As  a  man  of  business  I  feel  inclined  to 
suggest  a  bargain — that  I  am  allowed  to  see  the  book 
in  return  for  assisting  you  to  procure  the  material." 

Her  colour  came  furiously.  "I  must  seem  an  un- 
gracious ingrate — but  the  fact  remains  that  I  don't 
want  to  promise  even  that,"  she  muttered. 

His  bright  eyes  considered  her  with  infinite  relish. 
"I  was  forgetting  that  I  come  from  Samaria,"  said 
he  quaintly.  "But  I  waive  all  claim.  You  come 
with  me  unconditionally  to  Streatwood.  You  see,  I 
have  made  up  my  mind  about  you.  You  are  trust- 
worthy." 

She  caught  her  breath,  and  lowered  her  eyes.  "If 
anything  could  put  one  more  especially  upon  honour, 
it  would  be  your  incredible  generosity.  .  .  .  I'll  try 
and  live  up  to  it." 

"And  you'll  be  ready  to  start  off  with  me  in  a  few 
days'  time?" 

"The  sooner  the  better.  I  am  very  anxious  to 
leave  London." 


CHAPTER  VI 

NEW  IMPRESSIONS 

THE  family  at  Redmays  was  at  dinner,  when  the 
letter  from  Strachan  arrived  by  the  evening 
post,  and  was  brought  to  Mrs.  Cranstoun-Brown. 

"Well,  I'm  sure!"  said  she,  in  nettled  tones,  as 
she  looked  up  from  its  perusal. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  the  master  of  the 
house  amiably,  as  he  helped  the  fish.  "From 
Strachan,  did  you  say?  Is  he  not  coming  after  all?" 

"Oh,  he's  coming  right  enough,"  snorted  the  lady. 
"But  a  millionaire  cannot  travel  unattended,  it 
seems." 

"Going  to  bring  a  batman?"  asked  Gilbert. 

"A  valet  I  should  think  only  suitable  to  a  man  of 
his  wealth.  But  it  is  a  secretary  he  asks  leave  to 
bring." 

"Good!"  cried  Vera,  flourishing  her  napkin.  "A 
young  man  in  the  house  will  liven  us  up  I" 

"Your  cousin's  secretary  is  a  young  lady,"  re- 
marked her  mother  in  an  ominous  voice.  "In  fact" 
— glancing  with  heightened  colour  at  her  husband — 
"it's  the  typewriting  girl,  Joe." 

"Indeed!"  Joe  Brown  smiled  enigmatically,  and 
there  arose  a  volley  of  questions  from  the  family. 
Miss  Garth !  Who  and  what  was  she  ?  A  girl  who 

52 


New  Impressions  53 

had  fallen  downstairs,  and  whom  Cousin  George  had 
befriended? 

"So  that  was  the  day  you  lunched  with  him," 
mused  Vee.  "We  thought  there  was  some  crumpled 
rose-leaf  in  the  menu,  didn't  we,  Phyl?  Dare  I 
hazard  the  guess — arising  out  of  the  minutes  just 
read — that  the  lady  is  young  and  attractive?" 

"We  didn't  see  her,"  said  her  father  hastily. 

"Phyl,  I  believe  you're  too  late  in  the  field  after 
all,"  said  Vee  with  a  prodigious  sigh.  "It's  really 
interesting,  this." 

"Surely,"  pondered  her  mother  with  furrowed 
brow,  "we  can  refuse  on  the  score  of  accommoda- 
tion." 

"With  three  spare  rooms  in  the  house?  Bit  too 
thick,"  observed  Gilbert. 

"I  think  you  would  be  unwise  to  make  any  diffi- 
culty, my  dear,"  said  the  mild  husband.  "And  I  see 
nothing  in  the  least  out  of  the  way  in  Strachan's  re- 
quest. He  is  in  a  very  large  way  of  business,  and  I 
only  wonder  he  came  over  without  a  secretary.  His 
correspondence  must  be  enormous." 

"He  wants  to  bring  down  his  chauffeur  and  car  as 
well,"  went  on  Clara,  who  seemed  a  trifle  over- 
whelmed. 

"The  maids  will  be  only  too  pleased  to  have  a  man 
to  meals  in  the  kitchen,"  laughed  Vee.  "We  can 
do  up  the  little  room  over  the  stable;  Gil  has  wanted 
it  for  a  work-room  for  ever  so  long.  Buck  up, 
Mater,  it's  well  worth  doing.  Even  if  he  leaves  us 
only  ten  thou — a  mere  drop  in  the  bucket ! — it  would 


54         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

be  worth  your  while  to  lay  out  a  hundred  or  so, 
wouldn't  it?  Why,  it's  all  perfectly  thrilling!  Not 
only  is  the  millionaire  cousin  descending  upon  us — a 
god  in  a  car — but  he  actually  brings  with  him  a  hated 
rival,  whom  we  must  overthrow  by  our  superior 
strategy!  Phyl,  we  must  have  new  frocks!  My 
quarter's  salary  is  just  due.  Cheer  oh !  I  was  won- 
dering yesterday  why  I  took  up  that  stupid  old  work, 
and  now  I  know!  .  .  .  Look  at  Ma!  Shall  I  tell 
you  what  she  is  thinking?  I  know  as  well  as  if  she 
said  it  out  loud !  It  is  that  the  moment  has  arrived 
for  a  new  spare  room  carpet,  and  that,  since  the 
carpet  must  come  up,  it  will  be  an  excellent  chance 
to  get  the  room  papered  too !  I  know  Aunt  Nichol- 
son is  having  their  best  room  papered;  she  said  so 
in  her  last  letter." 

Vee's  intuitions  were  almost  uncanny,  as  her 
mother  remarked  to  her  father  that  night,  as  they 
made  ready  for  bed.  "They  were  the  very  thoughts 
passing  through  my  mind  at  the  moment;  but  how 
could  the  child  have  known?" 

"Hope  she  won't  be  too  sharp  for  her  cousin's 
taste,"  returned  Joe,  mildly  speculative.  "A  rich 
man  his  age  likes  something  soft  and  confiding." 

"Vee's  dreadfully  clever,"  sighed  his  helpmate. 
"She  will  feel  instinctively  for  the  right  line  to  take. 
And  in  America"  (Canada  and  the  United  States 
were  all  one  to  Mrs.  Cranstoun-Brown)  "they  are 
accustomed  to  something  very  go-ahead,  are  they 
not?  What  I  don't  like  is  this  business  of  the  lady 
secretary." 


New  Impressions  55 

"My  dear,  George  Strachan  is  as  straight  as  they 
make  them." 

"Who  doubted  it?"  she  snapped.  "Is  the  girl 
straight?  That  is  what  is  bothering  me." 

***** 

It  was  a  beautiful  afternoon  when  the  swift  car 
coursed  through  Streatwood,  found  the  Heriot 
Road,  and  slipped  into  the  hospitably  opened  gates 
of  Redmays. 

The  house  wore  an  air  of  well-being  even  beyond 
its  wont.  Every  window  sparkled,  every  muslin 
blind  was  snowy.  On  the  door  step  stood  Mrs. 
Cranstoun-Brown,  and  Phyllis  was  smiling  at  her 
side.  The  eyes  of  both,  gay  though  their  greeting 
to  Cousin  George,  were  fixed  in  keenest  scrutiny  on 
the  secretary. 

Miss  Garth  wore  a  long  rough  motor-coat  of  the 
plainest.  Beneath  this,  when  she  removed  it  in  the 
hall,  was  seen  a  dark  blue  coat  and  skirt.  She  wore 
no  carmine  on  her  cheeks,  nor  bloom  on  her  nose, 
no  silk  stockings,  no  scent.  In  fact,  the  first  view 
of  her  was  distinctly  reassuring,  and  it  was  with  a 
relieved  mind  that  the  hostess  led  the  way  into  the 
drawing-room.  This  was  no  siren.  As  she  ushered 
in  her  cousin,  she  murmured  confidentially: 

"I  suppose  you  would  prefer  that  Miss — er — 
Garth,  should  take  her  meals  with  us?" 

He  looked  blank.  "Where  else  could  she  take 
them?"  he  asked  in  a  puzzled  way. 

"Oh,  quite  so,  quite  so.    It  is  far  more  convenient 


56         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

to  me,  but  I  only  wanted  to  do  what  you  would  like 
best." 

"That  is  certainly  what  I  would  like  best;  and 
now — where  is  my  other  cousin — Veronica?" 

He  seated  himself  close  to  Clara,  near  the  low 
tea-table  upon  which  the  silver  was  faultlessly  bright. 

"Oh,  haven't  you  heard?  Veronica  is  out  all  day. 
You  know  she  is  clever,  and  her  father  gave  her  a 
University  education.  It  makes  a  girl  so  capable! 
And  when  this  League  for  a  Higher  Life  was  found- 
ed, just  after  peace  was  declared,  she  was  impor- 
tuned by  all  the  best  people  round  here  to  become 
secretary.  I  wanted  it  to  be  honorary,  but  she  ob- 
jected. She  said  she  ought  to  be  paid,  because  she 
might  be  succeeded  by  another  girl,  less  fortunate 
than  she,  who  might  not  be  able  to  afford  to  give  her 


services. 
if 


That  sounds  sensible,"  said  Strachan  approv- 
ingly, "and  it  does  not  leave  you  alone,  Clara !  You 
have  one  nice  daughter  to  keep  you  company."  He 
looked  with  approval  at  Phyllis,  who  wore  a  pretty 
light-coloured  dress,  and  whose  hair  was  becomingly 
arranged.  She  gave  an  impression  of  youth  and 
sturdy  health. 

She  was  so  pleased  with  her  cousin's  admiration 
that  she  actually  unbent  so  far  as  to  turn  to  Miss 
Garth  and  make  a  few  remarks. 

All  was  progressing  most  happily  when  the  door 
was  flung  open  and  in  walked  Vee  in  her  office  frock 
and  shabbiest  hat. 

"Hallo !"  said  she,  "so  the  Splendid  Cousin  has 


New  Impressions  57 

duly  arrived?  Where's  the  Secretary?  Ah,  I  see. 
Well,  Cousin  George,  stand  up  and  be  looked  at I" 

She  held  out  both  her  hands,  and  Strachan  took 
them,  rising  to  his  feet,  his  mouth  curved  in  its 
pleasant  smile. 

"H'mps !  Not  a  bit  what  I  expected !  How  sat- 
isfactory!" 

"Vee !"  warningly  from  her  mother;  but  Strachan 
laughed  outright. 

"Well  now,  little  cousin,  tell  me  why  you  thought 
I  should  be  an  ogre?" 

The  girl  seated  herself,  pulling  the  cake-stand 
towards  her  and  helping  herself.  "Haven't  I  seen 
plenty  of  portraits  of  my  Strachan  ancestry?"  quoth 
she;  "and  oh,  but  they  were  dour  folk!  Enough  to 
turn  milk  sour,  most  of  'em !  Like  lumps  of  north- 
ern granite " 

"Take  care  1"  he  warned  her.  "Not  myself  only, 
but  Miss  Garth,  whom  I  present  to  you,  comes  from 
the  north!" 

"Hallo,  Miss  Garth,"  said  Vee,  "forgive  my 
falling  to  before  I  had  greeted  you,  but  I  am  raven- 
ously hungry.  I've  had  such  a  day  of  it!  Our 
Vice-chairman  said  the  minute  I  took  did  not  convey 
the  sense  of  his  speech.  He  put  it  to  the  vote  and 
lost  by  a  big  majority." 

"Oh !  So  you  have  male  members  of  your  League 
fora  Higher  Life?" 

She  nodded,  sipping  her  tea.  "All  sorts.  It's 
great  sport,  really;  but  a  bit  confusing.  Some  think 


58         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

we  ought  to  amalgamate,  or  affiliate,  or  something, 
with  the  Purity  League  or  the  White  Rose  or  some 
of  those  things;  and  old  Miss  Bennett  said  in  com- 
mittee that  if  this  was  done  all  unmarried  ladies  must 
leave  the  League,  which  I  thought  insulting." 

"Vee  1"    Again  her  mother's  menacing  note. 

"What  is  it,  Ma?  Cousin  George  comes  from 
Canada,  and  out  there  they  don't  keep  their  girls  in 
a  drawer,  rolled  up  in  tissue  paper. 

"Is  that  where  they  keep  you,  Miss  Vee?"  de- 
manded Strachan,  merely  for  the  pleasure  of  hearing 
her  retort,  which  was : 

"What  do  you  think?"  with  an  intentional  vul- 
garity and  a  flashing  smile,  both  provocative. 

"Well,"  said  he,  "I  hope  they  don't  keep  you  in 
an  office  drawer,  all  day  and  every  day.  I  have 
plans  for  some  good  long  runs  in  the  car  for  anybody 
that  way  disposed." 

"Cousin  George,  what  can  you  possibly  hope  to 
get  out  of  me,  starting  to  bribe  in  this  shameless 
manner?  Why,  I'd  sell  my  soul  for  a  motor  tourl 
I  must  see  if  I  can't  get  a  holiday  somehow." 

Phyllis  had  to  clench  her  teeth  to  bite  back  words. 
She  had  reckoned  upon  a  week,  with  Vee  out  of  the 
way;  and  now  the  girl  had  bounced  in,  and  seized, 
as  it  seemed  to  her,  in  five  minutes  more  than  she 
could  have  hoped  to  accomplish  in  that  week. 

"My  sister  is  quick  to  make  friends,"  she  re- 
marked sourly  to  Miss  Garth. 

***** 


New  Impressions  59 

"Here's  tosh!"  said  Gilbert,  a  couple  of  hours 
later,  encountering  Phyllis  on  the  stairs.  "The 
mater  says  I'm  to  get  into  a  dinner  jacket." 

"Good  thing,  too.  You're  such  an  old  slouch," 
was  the  unsympathetic  reply. 

Her  brother  grunted,  and  continued  his  slow  way 
to  his  room,  where  he  most  unwillingly  changed. 

His  temper  was  so  bad  that  he  thought  he  would 
prepare  himself  to  be  agreeable  to  his  influential 
cousin  by  turning  into  the  old  schoolroom  and  smok- 
ing a  cigarette  before  proceeding  downstairs.  It 
was  not  cold  this  evening;  the  lack  of  a  fire  would 
not  be  prohibitive. 

There  was  a  fire,  though,  blazing  merrily.  On 
the  table  lay  a  number  of  documents,  and  a  type- 
writer in  its  case. 

On  the  hearthrug,  lost  in  dreams,  a  girl  sat,  star- 
ing into  the  flames,  whose  radiance  flickered  on  her 
white  arms  and  serious  profile,  gilding  every  thread 
of  her  loosely  gathered  hair. 


CHAPTER  VII 

GEORGE  STRACHAN'S  HEIRS 

THE  young  man's  evening  shoes  made  no  sound 
to  reveal  his  presence.  Closing  the  door  be- 
hind him,  he  remained  motionless,  staring  at  the 
stranger  on  his  hearth. 

As  he  contemplated  her  she  smiled  suddenly  at  her 
own  thoughts.  Such  a  smile !  Such  a  wonderful 
mouth,  full  of  meanings,  full  of  mysteries  1 

The  firelight  gilded  the  delicate  outline  of  her 
bare  arms,  and  he  caught  sight  of  a  black  bandage 
round  one  of  them.  This,  then,  must  be  the  secre- 
tary— the  object  of  his  mother's  dark  suspicions. 
Gilbert  could  afterwards  remember  quite  clearly  that 
his  first  emotion  on  beholding  her  was  a  fear  lest 
Mrs.  Cranstoun-Brown  might  say  or  do  anything 
offensive. 

Why  this  possibility  should  present  itself  to  him 
as  intolerable  he  could  not  have  said,  and  had  not 
time  for  reflection,  for  Miss  Garth  looked  up  and 
saw  him.  She  made  no  movement  to  rise,  but  looked 
at  him  expectantly,  and  he  came  forward  awkwardly. 

"I'm  afraid  I'm  intruding.  My  people  never  told 
me  this  room  would  be  in  use,"  he  said. 

She  rose  then  and  gave  him  her  hand,  smiling. 
"Are  we  turning  you  out?  What  a  shame!  But, 

60 


George  Strachan's  Heirs          61 

you  see,  we  must  have  somewhere  to  work.  It  takes 
at  least  a  couple  of  hours  a  day  to  keep  down  the 
correspondence." 

"I  see,"  he  said  slowly,  going  to  gaze  upon  her 
machine.  "How  can  you  manage  to  type  with  your 
injured  hand?"  he  asked,  with  real  curiosity. 

"I  have  only  just  begun  to  use  the  machine  again. 
My  sprain  is  practically  well  now." 

He  made  a  comment  upon  the  make  of  her  type- 
writer, and  she  left  her  place  beside  the  fire  to  answer 
his  questions,  laying  upon  the  well-kept  keys  a  hand 
and  wrist  which  seemed  made  of  a  different  flesh  and 
blood  from  that  of  Phyllis  or  Vee. 

"I  suppose,"  she  remarked,  "that  you  are  Mr. 
Cranstoun-Brown,  junior,  and  that  you  slipped  in 
here  for  a  quiet  cigarette  before  dinner.  Do  smoke, 
in  spite  of  my  intrusion,  won't  you?" 

"Oh,  no;  I'd  better  go.  Clumsy  of  me  to  blow 
in  like  that." 

"If  you  go  I  shall  feel  uncomfortable.  I  am 
merely  waiting  in  idleness  for  the  gong  to  sound,  and 
gloating  in  the  luxury  of  this  fire." 

"All  right,  if  you  will,  too."  He  went  to  a  cup- 
board and  got  out  a  box  of  dainty  Egyptians. 
"These  are  my  ladies'  brand,"  said  he.  "At  least, 
they  are  what  Sheila  Varick  likes." 

He  handed  them  to  her,  and  she  took  one  natu- 
rally. "Who  is  Sheila  Varick?"  she  asked. 

"She's  one  of  these  pitiful  war  widows,"  said  Gil- 
bert, seating  himself  opposite  to  Miss  Garth  at  the 
fireside.  "Her  brother,  Major  Doran,  and  I  were 


62         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

Territorial  officers  in  the  same  battalion  when  war 
broke  out.  One  leave  he  brought  home  Tommy 
Varick,  who  fell  head  over  ears  in  love  with  Sheila. 
Next  leave  they  were  married,  and  had  eight  days' 
honeymoon;  and — and — Tommy  Varick  never  had 
another  leave  after  that." 

"Poor  girl!" 

"Yes.  I  think  it  all  seems  to  her  rather  like  a 
dream  now.  There  was  something  quite  unlike  real 
life  about  that  kind  of  wedding — that  snatching  of  a 
few  days'  happiness  out  of  death's  jaws.  But  I  don't 
think  it  broke  her  heart,  you  know.  It  was  all  over 
so  quickly — she  knew  so  little  of  him,  really.  .  .  . 
The  Dorans  are  about  the  only  people  worth  know- 
ing hereabouts,"  he  added,  after  a  pause,  during 
which  he  watched  with  earnest  gaze  the  turn  of  Miss 
Garth's  wrist  as  she  held  her  cigarette. 

She  received  his  confidence  with  interest,  tinged 
with  a  guess  that  Gilbert  would  welcome  Mrs.  Var: 
ick's  inconstancy;  and  with  George  Strachan's  inter- 
ests in  mind,  she  studied  the  heavy-faced  young  man 
rather  narrowly. 

"When  you  came  in,"  said  she  presently,  "I  was 
thinking  how  beautiful  the  quiet  is  here.  I  have 
been  living  near  Vauxhall  for  the  past  six  months, 
and  this  is  sudden  peace.  I — I  don't  think  I  ex- 
pected to  find  Streatwood  such  a  pleasant  place." 

"Oh,  it's  all  right  when  you  get  here,"  conceded 
the  young  man  morosely.  "Personally  I  should  pre- 
fer Vauxhall.  One  is  close  to  the  hub  of  things 
there." 


George  Strachan's  Heirs         63 

"Yes,  that's  true,"  she  replied  ponderingly. 
"Why  don't  you  live  in  town  ?" 

He  shrugged.  "My  people  wouldn't  like  it,"  he 
answered  shortly.  "A  man  has  to  take  his  sisters 
about,  and  so  on." 

"That's  considerate,"  she  said  approvingly.  "Mr. 
Strachan  would  admire  that  trait  in  you." 

"What  kind  is  Strachan?  Very  old-fashioned — 
what?" 

"Do  you  want  me  to  describe  him?"  said  the  girl 
softly.  "Well,  he  is  a  knight  of  old,  born  by  acci- 
dent into  the  world  of  to-day.  I  could  point  you 
to  some  lines  of  Wordsworth  that  hit  him  off  pretty 
neatly;  but  I  won't.  I  leave  you  to  find  out  for 
yourself.  There's  always  a  pleasure  in  discovery, 
isn't  there?" 

"Sometimes,"  he  replied,  with  meaning. 

"It  must  have  seemed  rather  weak  of  me,"  she 
subjoined  after  a  pause,  "asking  you  if  you  were  Mr. 
Cranstoun-Brown.  But  I  really  did  not  feel  sure. 
You  are  not  a  bit  like  your  sisters." 

"So  Mrs.  Varick  says." 

"Your  sister  Veronica  is  evidently  a  Strachan," 
went  on  Miss  Garth.  "She  has  her  uncle's  long, 
oval  face  and  slightly  aquiline  nose,  with  those  dark 
eyes ;  only  hers  are  not  so  melting  as  his.  But  when 
she  smiles  she  is  very  like  him." 

"Is  that  so?"  said  Gilbert  mechanically.  He 
hardly  heard  what  was  said,  his  whole  attention  be- 
ing focused  upon  the  speaker. 

The  secretary  laughed  softly.     "There!     Now  I 


64         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

have  bored  you — and  that  in  the  first  ten  minutes  of 
our  acquaintance !  I  know  that  some  men  hate  the 
subject  of  family  likeness." 

He  made  polite  protests,  but  rather  with  the  air 
of  one  whose  manners  moved  on  rusty  springs,  not 
often  in  use.  He  had  a  decided  likeness  to  his 
mother,  and  with  her  massive  jaw  had  inherited  her 
small  eyes.  His,  however,  were  not  set  close  to- 
gether, as  were  hers;  and  they  were  blue-grey  in 
colour,  not  boot  buttons,  as  Charis  Garth  had  in  her 
thoughts  irreverently  described  the  lady's. 

The  room  was  very  quiet.  The  curtains  had  not 
been  drawn,  and  a  slim  crescent  moon  hung  over  the 
distant  roofs  of  the  houses  in  the  next  road. 

It  was  hardly  twilight,  but  enough  of  day  was 
gone  to  make  the  firelight  show  up  on  the  side  of  the 
room  away  from  the  window.  It  illumined  the  lines 
of  Miss  Garth's  slim  form,  painting  it  with  gilded 
edges,  like  a  Rembrandt.  The  coals  sank  together 
with  a  soft,  crushy  noise,  and  the  cat  on  the  rug 
purred  as  the  girl's  slippered  foot  caressed  him.  It 
was  so  comfortable  that  they  almost  forgot  to  talk; 
and  when  the  gong  for  which  they  had  been  listening 
sounded  they  started,  looked  at  each  other,  and 
smiled.  It  is  permissible  to  wonder  which  of  the  two 
would  have  been  more  surprised,  could  the  thoughts 
of  the  other  have  been  made  known. 

They  descended  the  stairs  side  by  side,  just  as 
the  rest  of  the  family  issued  from  the  drawing-room 
on  its  way  to  dinner.  There  was  a  savoury  smell  of 
soup  in  the  air,  and  Mrs.  Cranstoun-Brown  wore  a 


George  Strachan's  Heirs          65 

look  of  satisfaction,  for  the  visit  had  begun  well, 
with  the  sole  exception  that  Gilbert  had  not  as  yet 
appeared. 

As  she  glanced  up  and  saw  him  and  the  secretary 
side  by  side  coming  calmly  downstairs,  she  experi- 
enced a  mild  shock.  Her  boy!  She  had  previously 
supposed  the  secretary  to  be  setting  her  cap  at  the 
millionaire  himself;  but  here  was  another  and  an  un- 
welcome possibility ! 

uAh,  here  is  Gil,"  said  her  little  husband,  in  tones 
of  satisfaction.  "Come  and  be  introduced,  my  boy. 
I  thought  you  had  not  come  in." 

"Phyl  knew  I  was  in,"  was  the  rather  curt 
response. 

George  Strachan  grasped  his  hand,  and  thought 
with  regret  that  the  young  man  was  too  like  Clara  to 
be  lovable.  However,  he  made  his  greeting  as 
pleasant  as  he  could.  "What  a  big  chap  you  are !" 
he  said.  "And  have  been  through  the  whole  of  the 
war — Mons  Star  and  all,  I  hear!  I  shall  want  to  be 
told  about  that." 

Clara  sighed  a  little  as  she  led  him  into  the  din- 
ing-room and  placed  him  on  her  right  hand.  Gil- 
bert's military7  career  had  been  a  disappointment  to, 
her.  Major  Doran  and  he  had  gone  out  together, 
both  of  them  as  captains,  in  the  earliest  months. 
Now  Doran  was  a  major  and  had  won  the  Military 
Cross.  Gil  had  remained  a  captain,  and  acquired 
nothing  more  honourable  than  wound  stripes.  She 
could  not,  however,  speak  of  this  to  Strachan;  and 
her  preoccupation  with  the  serving  and  waiting  at 


66         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

table  made  her  at  all  times  a  bad  conversationalist 
at  meals.  However,  there  was  no  lack  of  talk. 
Strachan  was  agreeably  disappointed  with  the  family. 
On  closer  acquaintance  he  thought  his  first  verdict 
had  been  unduly  unfavourable.  He  began  to  hope 
that  he  was  not  quite  so  destitute  in  the  matter  of 
kinsfolk  as  at  first  he  had  feared. 

After  dinner  there  was  a  little  music.  Miss  Garth 
most  suitably  declared  that  she  neither  played  nor 
sang,  so  Phyl  and  Vee  got  their  chance  without  ri- 
valry. They  performed  like  any  other  girls  of  their 
class  and  type.  They  had  no  natural  taste  and  not 
much  ability;  and  though  they  had  had  expensive  les- 
sons, the  result  was  deplorably  mediocre.  The  most 
one  could  say  of  their  performance  was  that  a  quar- 
ter of  a  century  earlier  it  would  in  all  probability 
have  been  worse. 

Mrs.  Cranstoun-Brown,  however,  being  herself 
entirely  without  discrimination,  was  very  well  satis- 
fied. She  told  Mr.  Strachan  that  the  girls  had  had 
every  advantage,  and  condoled  with  Miss  Garth 
upon  the  privation  of  not  being  able  to  perform. 
Miss  Garth  replied  that  her  father  had  held  the 
view  that  a  girl  with  no  natural  taste  for  music 
should  not  waste  her  time  in  learning  to  play  a  musi- 
cal instrument.  Mrs.  Brown  complacently  approved, 
but  remarked  that  she  was  glad  her  girls  had  so 
marked  a  taste,  otherwise  their  father  and  she  would 
have  missed  a  great  deal  of  pleasure. 

Gilbert  struck  in  suddenly  and  remarked  that  for 
his  part  he  did  not  think  the  girls  were  really  musical 


George  Strachan's  Heirs          67 

at  all.  He  had  offered  to  take  them  to  the  new 
Strauss  opera,  and  they  had  not  cared  to  go. 

Miss  Garth  turned  her  head  to  him  swiftly.  "You 
like  music?" 

Gil  hesitated  a  moment,  and  then  said:  "I  know 
nothing  at  all  about  it,  but  it  has  a  great  effect  on  me. 
At  least,  I  know  enough  to  know  that  that  isn't 
music,"  nodding  his  head  towards  the  girls. 

"So,  after  all,"  reflected  Miss  Garth,  "he  is  really 
the  least  commonplace  of  the  family." 

After  the  musical  performance  Vee  inveigled 
everybody  into  playing  a  round  game  of  cards,  in 
which  she  sat  next  to  Cousin  George,  and  shame- 
lessly helped  herself  to  his  counters  when  her  own 
ran  short,  rising  from  the  table  by  this  means  the 
winner  of  ninepence,  to  her  sister's  hardly  concealed 
vexation. 

However,  Mr.  Strachan  was  laughing  and  quite 
animated  when  they  separated  for  the  night. 

But  to  Gilbert  the  whole  time  passed  like  a  dream 
in  which  nothing  was  clearly  focused,  except  a  quar- 
ter of  an  hour  spent  almost  in  silence  sitting  in  the 
firelight,  opposite  a  girl  who  was  wholly  unlike  any 
girl  in  his  previous  experience,  while  a  crescent  moon 
swam  in  a  spring  sky  that  shaded  from  sapphire  to 
apricot. 


CHAPTER  VIII 

THE  DINNER-PARTY 

THE  house  of  Redmays,  upon  the  morning  of 
the  day  fixed  for  the  dinner-party  in  Strachan's 
honour,  showed  a  somewhat  startling  departure 
from  its  usual  routine  of  well-ordered  comfort. 

So  complete  and  heart-whole  was  its  abandon- 
ment to  the  effort  of  the  evening  that  the  visitor 
thought,  with  a  twinkle,  that  it  must  be  supplying 
his  secretary  with  excellent  "copy." 

It  began  at  breakfast-time.  Mrs.  Cranstoun- 
Brown,  looking  worried  and  absent,  suggested  his 
taking  out  Miss  Garth  for  a  long  motor  run,  as  she 
and  the  girls  would  not  be  at  leisure  to  entertain  him. 
This  he  cheerfully  consented  to  do,  for  he  was  always 
content  to  drive  with  his  congenial  companion.  He 
declared  that  during  the  past  week  he  had  learned 
more  of  the  history  of  his  native  land,  through  the 
medium  of  its  village  churches,  than  he  had  ever 
acquired  by  means  of  history  books. 

A  trivial  incident  caused  the  alteration  of  this 
plan.  Flowers  for  the  dinner-table  were  under  dis- 
cussion, it  happening  to  be  the  day  of  the  week  when 
neighbouring  florists  were  ill  supplied  with  fresh 
ones.  Miss  Garth  suggested  that  the  garden  con- 
tained masses  of  lovely  lilac,  both  white  and  purple. 

68 


The  Dinner-Party  69 

Looking  compassionately  at  her,  Mrs.  Brown  vouch- 
safed the  information  that  lilac  will  not  live  in  water. 
Miss  Garth,  with  a  smile,  very  courteously  assured 
her  that  she  was  mistaken. 

"I  will  guarantee  that  any  lilac  which  I  put  into 
water  will  live  several  days  in  its  full  freshness," 
said  she.  "I  assure  you  I  am  talking  of  what  I 
understand." 

"H'mph!  One  of  these  Swanley  students,  are 
you?  But  they  are  of  no  use.  Old  Colonel  Doran 
tried  one.  She  expected  him  to  do  all  the  weeding. 
If  you  took  up  floriculture  professionally,  may  I  ask 
why  you  gave  it  up,  Miss  Garth?" 

UI  never  took  it  up,"  said  Charis,  smiling.  "But 
I  do  know  the  secret  of  making  lilac  live  in  water." 

"Lilac  is,  in  my  opinion,  not  a  table  flower." 

"Oh,  no.  I  would  not  put  it  on  the  table.  But 
we  might  do  the  whole  drawing-room  with  it,  and 
put  a  big  pot  in  the  hall.  Then  you  would  need  to 
buy  only  enough  tulips  for  the  table." 

"We  may  as  well  try  it,  Ma.  Flowers  are  such 
a  price,"  said  Phyllis  grudgingly.  She  had  decided, 
within  a  few  minutes  of  her  cousin's  arrival,  that 
she  would  be  his  wife;  and  she  was  of  an  iron  deter- 
mination. Her  feeling,  not  only  towards  Miss 
Garth,  but  towards  her  own  sister  was  that  of 
smothered  rage  and  spite,  ever  ready  to  break  out; 
and  only  Vee  knew  the  full  urgency  of  the  motives 
which  goaded  her  onward,  and  how  vital  it  was  that 
she  should  marry  a  rich  man  shortly. 

It  being  conceded  that  the  experiment  be  made, 


jo         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

Strachan  gladly  consented  to  postpone  his  drive; 
and  his  secretary  went  into  the  garden  and  gathered 
odorous  spikes  of  young,  just-blooming  flowers, 
looking  as  though  the  tips  had  been  dipped  into  red 
wine,  too  lately  blown  to  show  any  trace  of  suburban 
grime.  Having  borrowed  a  hammer,  she  proceeded 
to  pound  the  hard,  woody  stems  into  pulp  and  fibre 
for  two  or  three  inches  up,  and  then  disposed  the 
branches  in  deep  vases  with  a  dexterity  which  her 
hostess  was  fain  to  admire. 

"It'll  set  people  talking,"  said  Phyllis,  watching. 
"Everybody  always  says  you  can't  cut  lilac  because 
it  won't  live.  I  feel  doubtful,  even  now,  if  it  won't 
be  hanging  its  head  in  a  few  hours." 

"Let's  bet  on  it,  Phyl,"  said  Cousin  George,  who, 
cigar  in  mouth,  had  been  watching  the  whole  proc- 
ess. "Five  pounds  to  a  photo  of  yourself  that  Miss 
Garth's  flowers  won't  wilt." 

"Ugh!  Corrupter  of  youth!"  said  his  disre- 
spectful secretary,  who  was  on  excellent  terms  with 
him  by  this  time.  "So  Yankee  too !  Talking  about 
wilting!  You  should  remember  you  are  British, 
should  he  not,  Miss  Cranstoun-Brown  ?" 

Phyllis,  who  had  turned  crimson  when  her  cousin 
thus  asked  for  a  photo  of  herself,  stared  coldly.  "I 
should  not  think  of  criticising  Cousin  George.  I 
will  take  his  bet,"  said  she;  and  to  her  annoyance 
Cousin  George  said  teasingly  to  Miss  Garth,  who 
did  not  seem  at  all  crushed : 

"Thank  you,  my  dear.  You  managed  that  very 
nicely." 


The  Dinner-Party  71 

Managed  that?  Phyllis  went  off  with  her 
mother's  keys  to  get  the  best  glass  out  of  the  cup- 
board, pondering  this  mysterious  phrase. 

"Did  he  mean  that  she  knew  he  wanted  my  photo, 
and  that  she  spoke  against  him  on  purpose  to  make 
me  a  little  angry,  so  that  I  should  take  the  bet?  I 
suppose  so.  Then  has  he  told  her  that  he  admires 
me?  Perhaps.  He  had  hardly  been  here  five  min- 
utes before  he  showed  that  he  thinks  me  pretty. 
Does  he  think  her  pretty,  I  wonder?  I  don't.  But 
she's  clever  in  a  sort  of  way.  No  doubt  he  finds 
her  useful.  However,  when  I  marry  him,  I  shall 
persuade  him  to  get  rid  of  her.  Something  about 
her  that  confuses  me  somehow." 

After  lunch  Miss  Garth  quietly  suggested  to 
Strachan  that  he  should  take  Phyllis  instead  of  her- 
self out  in  the  car. 

"She  looks  tired,"  said  she,  "and  I  can  help  Mrs. 
Brown  in  her  place.  I  find  it  interesting,  you  know. 
It  never  occurred  to  me  before  to  wonder  how  people 
manage  when  they  give  a  dinner-party." 

Thus  it  was  arranged,  and  Mrs.  Brown,  to  her 
own  surprise,  found  herself  allowing  the  secretary  to 
wipe  wine-glasses  and  blanch  almonds,  to  fill  cut- 
glass  finger-bowls  and  strew  a  few  violets  in  each. 

Like  most  otherwise  commodious  suburban  houses, 
Redmays  contained  no  servants'  hall,  and  only  a 
mere  slip  of  a  pantry — just  a  bit  of  passage  boarded 
off,  with  a  sink  fitted  at  the  end. 

"It's  not  very  roomy,  when  there  is  such  a  lot  of 
silver  to  be  washed  up,"  sighed  the  care-worn  host- 


72         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

ess.  "Did  your  mother  do  much  entertaining,  Miss 
Garth?" 

"My  mother  died  when  I  was  a  child,  and  was 
an  invalid  for  some  time  before  her  death." 

"Then  I  suppose  you  don't  remember  where  the 
silver  was  washed  up  when  there  was  a  dinner-party, 
do  you?" 

"Why,  really,  I  haven't  an  idea.  I  suppose  the 

but "  began  Miss  Garth,  biting  off  a  word  short 

and  growing  rather  pink. 

"The  butt?  What,  the  soft-water  butt?  You 
must  be  mistaken,  I  am  sure.  They  could  not  have 
used  that." 

"How  stupid  of  me.  Of  course  not.  Our  coun- 
try house — our  house  was  in  the  country,  I  should 
say — was  old  and  rambling.  We  suffered  from  too 
much  space  rather  than  too  little." 

"I  see.  One  of  these  old-fashioned  houses.  No 
conveniences." 

"No,  none." 

"In  Westmorland,  I  think  you  said?" 

"Yes." 

"I  don't  notice  that  you  have  any  north-country 
accent." 

"It — it  isn't  very  marked,  I  think.  My  mother 
came  from  the  south." 

"That  would  account  for  it.  How  did  she  like 
all  the  inconveniences?  I  suppose  your  water  had 
to  be  pumped?" 

"Yes,  it  was  all  pumped." 


The  Dinner-Party  73 

"You  had  a  garden  man,  perhaps,  who  could  do 
it." 

"I — I  believe  it  was  done  by  a — the  gardening 
man."  (But  he  didn't  do  it  half  as  persistently  as 
you  are  doing  it  now,  she  added  to  herself.) 

"Oh,  well,"  said  Mrs.  Brown  genially,  "after  liv- 
ing so  secluded  it's  really  quite  a  chance  for  you  to 
see  a  little  society.  There's  one  thing,  it's  all  the 
best  people  in  Streatwood  that  you'll  be  meeting  this 
evening." 

Charis  gravely  replied  that  she  had  no  doubt  it 
would  be  most  interesting.  A  sense  of  shame  was 
pricking  her.  Was  it  fair  to  allow  the  simple-minded 
lady  to  go  on  spreading  herself? 

"Whoever  marries  one  of  my  girls,"  continued 
Mrs.  Brown  complacently,  "will  marry  one  that  has 
been  trained  to  keep  house  in  the  correct  style. 
Everything  good  and  solid  has  always  been  my 
motto.  Plentiful  supplies,  but  no  waste  permitted. 
There  is  not  much  of  such  housekeeping  nowadays; 
but  my  daughter,  Miss  Cranstoun-Brown,  is  truly 
domestic.  Her  husband  will  have  a  treasure.  I 
hope  she  is  enjoying  her  drive." 

"She  can  hardly  fail  to  enjoy  Mr.  Strachan's 
society,  I  think.  He  is  so  thoughtful  for  others." 

"Even  those  in  his  employment,"  replied  Mrs. 
Brown,  while  her  boot-button  eyes  regarded  the 
speaker  furtively.  "I  think  my  cousin's  spirits  have 
improved  since  his  coming  here." 

"I  am  sure  of  it,"  replied  Miss  Garth,  with  a  cor- 
dial alacrity  which  was  flattering. 


74         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"I  thought  it  would  be  so.  We  are  his  own  kin, 
you  see ;  and  blood,  after  all,  is  thicker  than  water." 

Having  made  this  pronouncement  with  all  the 
emphasis  of  one  who  has  hit  upon  an  original  and 
striking  thought,  the  lady  departed,  leaving  her 
guest  to  finish  polishing  the  glasses,  with  an  odd 
expression  compressing  the  corners  of  her  tucked-in 
mouth — an  expression  suggesting  guilt.  She  had  to 
whisper  to  herself,  "My  daughter,  Miss  Cranstoun- 
Brown,"  before  she  could  allow  herself  to  be 
amused;  and  even  then  there  was  a  moral  uneasiness. 
She  was  sailing  under  false  colours,  and  the  knowl- 
edge humiliated  her. 

Since  his  bereavement  social  functions  had  been  to 
Strachan  bitterly  repugnant.  He  would  not,  how- 
ever, allow  his  anti-social  inclinations  to  appear, 
since  he  knew  the  guests  had  been  bidden  to  do 
honour  to  himself,  and  he  understood  in  part  the 
gratification  which  Clara  must  feel  in  presenting  him 
to  her  friends. 

At  the  urgent  request  of  his  flurried  relatives,  he 
dressed  in  good  time  and  joined  them  in  the  drawing- 
room  before  the  arrival  of  their  guests.  The  daugh- 
ters of  the  house  were  both  extremely  smart.  He 
did  not  like  their  gowns,  but  could  not  explain  to 
himself  the  cause  of  his  disapproval.  He  watched 
for  Miss  Garth  to  come  down,  with  an  earnest  hope 
that  she  would  present  a  contrast.  Some  important 
letters,  with  which  he  was  obliged  to  deal,  had  ar- 
rived by  the  afternoon  post,  so  his  secretary  was  a 
little  late.  No  guests  had,  however,  arrived  when 


The  Dinner-Party  75 

she  slipped  quietly  in.  She  was  in  white,  and  a 
necklet  of  seed-pearls  was  round  her  throat.  Her 
abundant  hair  was  very  simply  arranged,  and  she 
wore  no  gloves  nor  bracelets.  It  was  thus  not  easy 
to  say  why  she  conveyed  the  impression  of  being 
much  more  en  grande  toilette  than  anyone  else 
present. 

Both  the  Brown  girls  had  red  ears  as  well  as  red 
hands.  There  was  a  red  mark  upon  their  chests,  due 
to  wearing  blouses  low  in  front.  The  arms,  dis- 
played almost  without  sleeves,  were  of  coarse  and 
mottled  texture.  Miss  Garth's  ears  were  cream- 
colour,  slightly  warmed  to  pink,  like  the  petals  of  a 
tea  rose.  Her  ringless  fingers  were  rosy  only  at  the 
tips. 

She  entered  writh  a  slight  apology  for  lateness,  to 
which  Mr.  Cranstoun-Brown  cordially  replied  that 
Strachan  had  duly  explained. 

Gilbert  was  standing  stiffly  on  the  watch.  He  had 
hardly  spoken  two  words  to  her  since  the  first  eve- 
ning ofiher  stay,  and  he  found  the  sight  of  her  oddly 
overwhelming.  When,  not  having  seen  him  that 
morning,  she  now  acknowledged  his  presence  with  a 
slight  bow  and  smile  of  greeting,  he  felt  ridiculously 
as  if  some  member  of  the  Royal  Family  had  accorded 
him  gracious  recognition. 

As  for  Charis  herself,  she  had  dressed  as  plainly 
as  she  could,  with  the  express  intention  of  being 
outshone  by  the  other  ladies.  She  now  perceived 
that  she  had  struck  the  wrong  note — that  something 
in  her  elaborate  simplicity  looked  as  though  holding 


j6         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

up  the  other  girls  to  an  unspoken  condemnation.  She 
could  but  trust  that  such  subtleties  would  not  occur 
to  the  Redmays  family.  To  the  host  they  did  not; 
his  wife  and  daughters,  however,  without  under- 
standing, felt  obscurely  snubbed. 

To  cover  her  own  vague  sense  of  dissatisfaction 
Vee  began  to  chatter. 

"How  good  something  smells!  Why,  it's  lilac! 
Well,  Ma,  how  many  times  have  I  wanted  to  use  our 
lilac,  and  you  would  never  let  me !" 

Miss  Garth  glanced  at  the  masses  of  bloom  and 
laughed  up  at  Strachan.  "Miss  Cranstoun-Brown 
has  lost  her  bet;  you  will  get  your  photo,"  said  she. 

"What's  that?  What's  that?"  cried  Clara.  "A 
bet  between  you  and  Phyllis,  George?" 

"I  bet  Phyllis  five  pounds  to  a  copy  of  one  of 
those  nice  pictures  of  herself,  such  as  you  have  on 
the  mantelpiece  here,  that  Miss  Garth's  lilac  would 
not  wilt — I  ask  pardon,  would  not  fade;  my  secre- 
tary is  particular  about  my  English." 

His  cousin  caught  with  glee  upon  the  portion  of 
this  remark  which  she  understood.  There  was  some 
joke,  some  little  incident,  between  her  daughter  and 
George.  Phyllis,  all  smiles,  had  gone  to  a  drawer 
and  extracted  an  elaborately  mounted  and  mistily 
focused  photograph,  which  she  presented  to 
Strachan,  who  received  it  with  empressement.  Per- 
haps he  rather  spoilt  the  effect  by  remarking: 

"I  thought  my  five  pounds  was  pretty  safe." 

"But  how  did  you  make  lilac  live  in  water?"  de- 
manded Vee  somewhat  peremptorily  of  Miss  Garth. 


The  Dinner-Party  77 

Before  the  latter  could  reply,  the  one-night  butler 
threw  open  the  door  and  announced  the  first  arrivals. 

All  the  rest  of  the  party  were  assembled  by  the 
time  a  name  was  given  out  which  made  Charis  glance 
towards  the  door  with  interest. 

"Mrs.  Varick  and  Major  Doran." 

These  two  were  the  subject  of  more  or  less  con- 
stant talk  at  Redmays,  and  she  knew  them  to  be 
brother  and  sister. 

At  first  sight  of  them  she  felt  a  slight  tremor,  for 
these  looked  like  people  of  her  own  sort.  Major 
Doran  was  good-looking,  well  set  up,  and  tailored 
by  someone  in  Savile  Row.  His  sister  was  a  woman 
you  would  notice  in  any  room — self-possessed,  with 
grace  of  carriage,  and  a  little  head  which  she  held 
proudly.  She  was  older  than  Charis  had  guessed 
her  to  be — she  must  have  been  thirty — but  at  first 
sight  of  her  one  instantly  thought,  "Oh,  you  charm- 
ing creature!" 

Mrs.  Cranstoun-Brown  presented  them  both  with 
effusion  to  Strachan;  and  Charis,  in  her  capacity  of 
looker-on,  watched  with  interest,  as  Vee  drew  near 
to  the  conquering  major,  and  Gilbert  to  his  sister. 

"Hallo,  Major!"  was  Vee's  greeting,  accom- 
panied by  one  of  her  daring  looks.  "How's  the 
world  treating  you?  And  what  do  you  think  of  our 
tame  millionaire?" 

"Millionaire,  eh?"  said  Doran,  turning  his  gaze 
upon  Strachan  with  attention;  but  in  an  instant  he 
turned  abruptly  to  Vee  and  said  in  an  undertone : 

"Who  is  the  fair  unknown?    Is  she  his  wife?" 


78         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"The  fair  unknown?"  Vee  was  genuinely  puz- 
zled. 

"There,  over  by  the  window,"  he  went  on,  "a 
woman  you  would  not  expect  to  see  in  Streatwood. 
In  pity  tell  me  who  she  is.  Wonder  what  that  gown 
cost." 

Vee  started.  "That!  My  cousin's  secretary,  do 
you  mean?" 

"You  cousin  has  my  congrats.  Worth  being  a 
millionaire,  if  one  can  do  oneself  like  that  in  the 
matter  of  a  secretary.  I  suppose  you  and  she  are 
pretty  chummy,  being  in  the  same  line  of  business?" 

Vee  coloured  angrily.  "Not  much  resemblance. 
I  took  on  my  job  for  fun,  as  you  know.  But  she 
has  to  earn  her  living." 

"Earns  a  good  one,  judging  by  her  gown,"  said 
Doran  in  an  absorbed  way. 

"You  talk  as  if  she  were  the  only  woman  in  the 
room  who  had  a  gown  on,"  snapped  Vee,  desperately 
piqued.  She  suddenly  felt  that  the  local  dressmaker 
was  intolerable.  What  was  there  in  the  cut  of  that 
little  white  frock? 

"She  makes  me  feel  like  that,"  he  answered,  un- 
perturbed. "Do  make  me  known  to  her,  won't 
you?" 

"Come  along,  and  see  if  she  is  as  charming  as  she 
appears,"  replied  Vee;  and  though  she  was  trembling 
with  -mortification  she  managed  a  light  note.  She 
saw  her  mother  cast  a  baleful  glance,  but  returned  it 
with  a  defiant  glare,  led  the  major  up,  and  presented 
him  to  Charis,  who  received  very  calmly  the  full, 


The  Dinner-Party  79 

steady  gaze  of  fine  grey  Irish  eyes  above  an  abundant 
golden  moustache. 

"Garth?"  said  Doran  gently.  "Any  relation  to 
General  Garth?  I  was  under  him  at  one  time." 

"None  whatever.  None  of  my  uncles  is  a  gen- 
eral," she  replied  indifferently. 

"Do  you  know,  I  have  a  kind  of  idea  that  I  have 
met  you  somewhere?" 

"Indeed?  Very  likely,"  she  replied,  with  an  im- 
plication that  she  might  easily  have  met  him  with- 
out remembering  the  fact,  which  stung  him  in  his 
very  vulnerable  vanity. 

"Do  let  us  try  and  think  where  it  can  have  been — 
it  is  a  rather  fascinating  game — like  that  deadly 
guessing  game  where  you  may  only  reply  to  such 
questions  as  may  be  answered  by  'Yes'  or  'No.'  ' 

"If  that  will  amuse  you,"  she  returned  listlessly, 
and  for  a  moment  he  thought  she  was  dull;  but 
almost  at  once  he  revised  his  opinion.  She  lifted  her 
eyes  and  looked  at  him,  quietly  but  searchingly ;  and 
somehow  that  look  told  him  that  she  was  purposely 
trying  to  seem  dull,  in  order  to  detach  him.  Now 
why? 


CHAPTER  IX 

AN  EXCITING  SCHEME 

MISS  GARTH'S  honest  intention  to  melt  into 
the  background  was  easier  of  design  than 
accomplishment.  It  had  seemed  to  her  that  the 
presence  at  table  of  a  meek  supernumerary,  plainly 
garbed,  would  pass  unnoticed  save  by  the  male  guest 
who  was  considered  unimportant  enough  to  have  to 
take  her  in.  But  the  exigencies  of  precedence  had 
obliged  the  hostess  to  place  the  younger  people  to- 
wards the  middle  of  either  side,  and  when  they  were 
seated  Charis  found  that  she  had  Major  Doran  on 
her  left.  Her  right-hand  neighbour,  a  deaf  and 
nervous  middle-aged  solicitor,  had,  of  course,  the 
first  claim  upon  her  conversation.  The  major,  how- 
ever, assailed  her  upon  the  other  side  with  such  per- 
sistence that  finally  she  was  obliged  to  turn  to  him. 

As  long  as  his  conversational  openings  were 
merely  "feelers,"  she  was  obstinately  monosyllabic; 
but  when  he  proceeded  to  the  mention  of  a  new  play 
lately  presented,  she  yielded  to  the  temptation  to 
discuss  it  with  one  who  had  evidently  not  only  seen 
much,  but  had  even  thought — a  little.  But  they  had 
not  talked  long  before  the  flame  of  Vee's  resentment 
seemed  to  reach  her  like  tangible  heat.  With  a 
hurried  "I  don't  know;  ask  Miss  Veronica — she  can 

80 


An  Exciting  Scheme  81 

tell  you,"  she  turned  her  shoulder  to  him  and  reso- 
lutely tackled  her  solicitor,  who  could  apparently  fix 
his  mind  upon  nothing  but  the  culture  of  salpiglossis. 

"I  can  assure  you,"  said  he  earnestly,  "hundreds 
of  people  with  gardens  don't  know  their  value  as  a 
means  of  obtaining  a  mass  of  varied  colour  at  a  small 
outlay — and  so  easy  to  grow." 

Her  interest  was  so  well  feigned  that  in  a  burst 
of  confidence  he  disclosed  to  her  the  name  of  his 
own  special  seed  merchant,  even  going  the  length 
of  writing  it  down  for  her  upon  the  back  of  his  name 
card.  It  was  just  as  she  looked  up  from  this  absorb- 
ing transaction  that  she  caught  Gilbert's  eye  across 
the  table,  and  wondered  what,  exactly,  it  expressed. 
It  was,  however,  not  until  much  later  in  the  evening, 
after  the  emergence  of  the  gentlemen  from  the  din- 
ing-room, that  she  found  herself  near  enough  to  him 
to  ask  him. 

"I  caught  you  looking  at  me  across  the  table  in 
the  midst  of  my  struggles  to  be  interested  in  Mr. 
Wibley.  What  were  you  thinking  about,  I  wonder?" 

He  looked  for  a  moment  utterly  loutish  and 
tongue-tied. 

"Why,  I — I  was  just  looking  .  .  .  you  were  right 
opposite  me,  you  know.  .  .  ." 

"Oh,  what  a  let-down  for  my  vanity !  You  seemed 
to  be  saying  so  much — to  be  looking  so  significantly ! 
I  thought  you  were  admiring  my  Christian  charity — 
or  perhaps  despising  my  hypocrisy." 

"The  second  conjecture  would  be  nearer  the 
mark,"  was  his  most  unexpected  answer.  "You  are 


82         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

a  good  actor.  The  poor  chap  had  no  idea  he  was 
boring  you  .  .  .  but  the  truth  is " 

"Yes?    The  truth  is ?" 

"A  thing  one  never  tells,"  muttered  Gilbert,  look- 
ing at  the  carpet. 

She  hesitated,  faintly  puzzled,  and  made  as  if  she 
would  pass  on. 

"No,  don't,"  he  suddenly  said.  "Sit  down  here 
and  talk  to  me.  Since  that  first  evening  you  have 
hardly  spoken  to  me,  and  I'm  no  worse  than  old 
Wibley,  anyway." 

"Ah,  but  entertaining  you  isn't  part  of  my  duty," 
she  reminded  him  demurely.  Nevertheless,  she  sat 
down,  for  she  was  tired. 

Gilbert's  vigilant  mother  was  deeply  absorbed,  at 
a  distance,  with  her  back  to  them,  talking  to  a  com- 
panion of  congenial  age  and  tastes. 

"Now,"  said  the  young  man  deliberately,  "I  want 
to  know  something  about  yourself.  Where  do  you 
come  from?" 

She  looked  wicked.  "I  was  born  of  poor  but 
dishonest  parents " 

"We'll  cut  the  prologue,"  he  broke  in  doggedly 
and  without  a  smile.  "Are  you  a  Londoner?" 

"Kind  sir,  I  am  not.  I  am  a  sort  of  Lucy,  to  tell 
you  the  truth.  I  dwelt  among  the  untrodden  ways, 
beside  the  springs  of — not  Dove,  but  some  other 
river  of  much  the  same  kind.  A  maid  whom  there 
was  none  to  praise  and  only  one  to  love." 

"Only  one?"  sharply,  and  as  it  were  angrily. 

A  shade  crossed  the  downbent  face  upon  which 


An  Exciting  Scheme  83 

his  eyes  were  steadily  fixed.  "Only  one,  for  a  long 
time.  My  mother  died  when  I  was  twelve,  and  my 
father,  so  I  am  told,  spoilt  me  horribly.  I  never 
had  a  brother  to  take  me  down,  as  I  hear  you  take 
down  your  sisters.  We  lived  in  retirement,  and  I 
suppose  I  grew  unbearable,  for,  after  remaining  a 
widower  for  seven  years  or  so,  my  father  married 
again."  Lifting  her  eyes  for  a  moment,  she  inwardly 
recoiled  from  the  dumb  feeling  in  his,  and  shook 
her  head  with  a  provoking  smile.  "Oh,  you're  quite 
wrong.  The  lady  didn't  turn  me  out.  On  the  con- 
trary, she  thinks  me  a  perfect  toad  because  I 
wouldn't  stay  at  home.  She  thinks  I  am  so  selfish  to 
leave  her  alone  in  her  dullness  .  .  .  when  she  has 
him,  all  to  herself!  That's  what  I  can't  bear.  She 
has  stolen  him  from  me,  and  now  she  has  got  him 
she  is  already  tired  of  it." 

Gilbert  said  absolutely  nothing  for  some  time. 
Had  she  reflected,  she  might  have  wondered  how  she 
knew  that  his  silence  was  the  measure  of  his  sym- 
pathy. 

"You'll  go  back,"  he  said  at  last. 

"You  think  so?  I  wonder.  What  I  mind  is,  not 
having  her  in  my  place  as  mistress — oh,  how  soon  I 
could  forgive  her  that,  if  she  made  him  happy!  It 
is  the  seeing  him  miserable  which  upsets  me  so  1  ... 
And  now,"  she  looked  at  him  challengingly,  "you 
have  heard  more  than  I  ever  told  Mr.  Strachan!" 

His  face  changed  oddly.  His  lips  quivered.  He 
had  large  lips,  but  they  were  finely  cut.  "You  like 
my  cousin?"  he  asked. 


84         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"Not  'alf"  whispered  she,  with  a  daring  smile, 
which  he  shared. 

"Will  you  go  back  to  Canada  with  him,  do  you 
think?" 

"It's  possible  I  might,  if  he  wants  me.  But,  you 
see,  there  is  a  difficulty.  In  the  eyes  of  a  censorious 
world  we  still  want  a  chaperon,  he  and  I,  in  spite  of 
modern  emancipation.  He  is  a  very  proper  old  dear, 
and  I  know  he  thinks  so.  So  we  shall  probably  be 
obliged,  reluctantly,  to  part  .  .  ." 

"Or "  began  Gilbert,  and  stopped  on  that. 

"Or  engage  a  chaperon,"  she  finished  glibly,  "if 
he  takes  a  house  in  England.  I  believe  that  is  what 
he  thinks  of  doing." 

"He — he  may  do  as  your  father  has  done,"  haz- 
arded Gilbert. 

"He  may,  of  course;  but  somehow  I  don't  think 
he  will — not  yet  awhile,  anyway.  He  talks  always 
of  his  dear  people,  rather  as  if  they  were  awaiting 
him  the  other  side  of  the  Atlantic.  It's  rather 
pathetic." 

"Yes.    It's  pathetic." 

"Well,"  said  Miss  Garth  with  some  briskness, 
dragging  him  out  of  one  of  those  silences  of  his 
which  she  found  oddly  eloquent.  "Now  it's  your 
turn.  You've  had  my  history.  The  second  traveller 
then  commenced  the  narrative  of  his  life.  Were  you 
born  in  this  house?" 

"No.  I  was  born  in  a  little  white  house  on  the 
Common.  Much  nicer,  to  my  thinking,  but  less 
pretentious.  In  those  days,  the  place  wasn't  much 


An  Exciting  Scheme  85 

built  over.  It  was  just  leaving  off  being  a  village, 
and  my  mother  used  to  let  me  go  out  to  play  on  the 
Common." 

"And  then  I  suppose  you  went  to  school?" 

"Yes.  To  Haileybury.  I  didn't  do  much  good 
there.  However,  my  mater  was  set  on  my  going  to 
Oxford,  so  I  went.  Never  did  anything  there, 
either.  Just  not  good  enough  for  my  college  boat  or 
my  college  eleven.  I'm  what  they  call  a  hopeless 
mediocrity." 

"Do  they?  Then  they  haven't  much  discern- 
ment." 

"What  do  you  mean  by  that?" 

"A  mediocrity  could  hardly  get  outside  himself 
and  judge  himself  as  you  have  just  done.  And 
what  do  you  do  now?  Did  you,  like  everybody  else, 
find  it  hard  to  settle  down  after  the  war?" 

"Hard  to  settle  down?  I'd  do  any  job  that  gave 
me  a  chance  to  earn  a  living.  But  there's  nothing 
doing.  I'm  in  my  father's  office  because  I  can't  sit 
fuming  at  home ;  but  I'm  farther  from  advancement 
of  any  kind  than  I  was  six  years  ago.  However,  I 
hope  I  see  a  break  in  the  clouds  now " 

"You  do?" 

"I  want  to  persuade  Strachan  to  take  me  out  into 
his  business  in  Canada.  Only  I'm  afraid  he  thinks 
I'm  a  fool " 

As  she  was  about  to  reply,  Major  Doran's  voice 
broke  in. 

"Miss  Garth,  you  monopolise  my  company  com- 
mander." 


86         The  Judgment  of  Chads 

"Not  one  of  your  happiest  gambits,  Doran,"  said 
Gil  dryly.  "It  is  I,  on  the  contrary,  who  am  monopo- 
lising Miss  Garth.'" 

"Easily  understood;  but  don't  go.  I  have  some- 
thing to  talk  about,  to  both  of  you.  I  have  been 
having  a  long  chat  with  Mr.  Strachan,  who  is  posi- 
tively one  of  the  best.  It  appears  he  is  intending  to 
go  up  north  to  stay  with  some  relatives  of  his,  and 
wants  to  do  the  journey  in  his  car.  It  dawned  upon 
me  that  Sheila  and  I  have  been  contemplating  a  tour, 
and  that  your  party  is  rather  big  for  one  car  and  ours 
too  small.  If  we  have  two  cars,  we  can  divide  more 
comfortably — eh  ?  Some  scheme,  Gil  ?  Your  father 
will  give  you  a  fortnight  off,  won't  he?" 

"I  can  take  a  fortnight  of  my  holiday  now  instead 
of  later,  if  that's  what  you  mean." 

Miss  Garth  smiled.  "You  think  a  tour  would 
bore  you,  Mr.  Cranstoun-Brown?  Why  not  be 
brave  and  say  you  are  not  coming?" 

"Because  I  am  coming,"  said  Gilbert,  in  such  a 
snubbing  voice  that  she  and  Doran  laughed  teasingly 
at  him. 

"You'll  get  used  to  Gil,"  observed  the  Major 
easily.  "He's  a  bit  of  a  Cymon,  who  hasn't  yet  met 
his  Iphigenia." 

"Don't  understand  the  allusion,"  muttered  Gil, 
this  time  in  tones  decidedly  sulky. 

"Look  at  your  'Decameron,'  if  Mrs.  Cranstoun- 
Brown  allows  such  a  thing  in  the  house.  But  now 
come  over  here  and  help  us  to  thrash  out  this  im- 
portant scheme." 


An  Exciting  Scheme  87 

They  both  followed  him  to  where  Cousin  George 
sat,  as  it  were,  enthroned  upon  the  settee,  with  an 
air  of  enjoying  himself  very  much.  Beside  him  was 
Mrs.  Varick,  leaning  back  in  her  corner,  with  a  face 
full  of  approval.  Phyllis  sat  on  a  low  chair,  facing 
them,  and  Vee  knelt  at  her  cousin's  knee. 

"Come  here,  Gilbert,  we  want  you,"  said  Mrs. 
Varick,  with  the  pretty  little  air  of  married-woman 
patronage  which  sat  so  well  upon  her.  "We  have 
hit  upon  the  best  idea  that  has  come  my  way  for 
months,  and  we  owe  it  to  the  vast  brain  of  this  won- 
derful cousin  of  yours !" 

"Yes,  isn't  he  priceless?"  cried  Vee.  "I  never 
thought  any  real  live  man  could  be  so  attractive." 

Gilbert  hunched  his  shoulders  and  stared  at  Sheila 
in  his  meditative  way.  "Strikes  me,  if  Cousin  George 
goes,  Doran  and  I  will  get  a  pretty  thin  time,"  said 
he.  "Look  at  you  all !  Disgraceful !" 

"You  must  forgive  us !"  cried  Sheila.  "He  really 
is,  as  Vee  says,  priceless!  He  has  been  telling  us 
all  about  his  early  life!  He  was  born  in  Brough, 
all  among  the  moors;  but  as  soon  as  he  was  old 
enough  to  work,  they  sent  him  to  Darlington,  and  he 
was  there  in  a  dirty  factory,  like  George  Stephenson 
— all  among  whirring  machinery  and  hot  oily  smells ! 
But  whenever  he  had  a  holiday,  he  used  to  escape, 
up  to  Teesdale,  or  the  valley  of  the  Greta,  and  now 
he  is  going  to  stay  with  his  cousin,  who  is  vicar  of 
some  place  near  what  he  calls  'Barney-Cassell.'  ' 

Strachan's  eyes  twinkled  appreciatively  at  the 
pretty  speaker,  who  had  caught  his  accent  exactly. 


88         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"I  guess  I  shall  be  pretty  well  guyed  before  this  trip 
is  over,"  said  he.  "However,  go  on,  little  girls  I  It 
amuses  you,  and  I  can  stand  it." 

As  he  spoke,  his  eye  caught  that  of  his  secretary, 
and  he  saw  a  disturbed  look  on  her  face.  "Miss 
Garth,"  said  he,  "I  hope  this  plan  of  the  tour  has 
your  approval?" 

Charis  flinched.  She  saw  Mrs.  Varick's  beautiful 
eyes  upturned  to  her  in  deep  surprise.  She  caught 
a  hostile  flash  in  the  eyes  of  Phyllis;  and,  worse  than 
all,  she  heard  from  behind  her  the  peculiar  little 
snort  which  always  heralded  the  annoyance  of  Mrs. 
Cranstoun-Brown,  who  had  been  busy  bidding  her 
guests  farewell,  and  now  came  to  know  the  meaning 
of  the  vivacious  group  clustered  round  the  sofa. 

"What  can  it  be  for  which  the  approval  of  Miss 
Garth  is  so  necessary,  George?"  asked  she,  with 
weighty  sarcasm. 

"Mr.  Strachan  was  joking,"  said  Charis  gently, 
furious  with  herself  for  the  hot  colour  which  she 
could  not  control  and  for  her  knowledge  that  Major 
Doran  was  deeply  on  the  alert. 

"Why,  Clara,"  said  Strachan,  "I  must  tell  you  of 
this  plan  which  has  suddenly  leapt  into  being.  We 
intend  to  make  a  tour  of  the  north  in  my  car  and  that 
belonging  to  Major  Doran.  But  you  look  as  if  you 
thought  I  was  hardly  to  be  trusted  with  all  this  youth 
and  beauty?" 

"We  are  rather  sweet,  aren't  we  ?"  said  Vee  rap- 
turously. "As  dear  Lord  Tennyson  so  winningly  put 


An  Exciting  Scheme  89 

it,  we  are  rosebuds  set  with  little  wilful  thorns,  and 
sweet  as  English  air  can  make  us." 

"And  Mrs.  Varick,"  said  Strachan  gallantly,  "is 
queen  rose  of  the  rosebud  garden — eh?" 

Clara  gulped.  She  began  to  feel  that  she  might 
have  done  more  wisely  to  keep  her  millionaire  to 
herself  than  to  introduce  him  to  the  charming 
Dorans.  With  all  the  force  of  her  will  she  intended 
that  Gilbert  should  marry  Sheila  Varick,  and  Veron- 
ica the  Major;  but  as  she  looked  at  the  unexpected 
sociability  and  content  of  Strachan,  she  had  a  sink- 
ing of  the  heart.  What  was  there  to  prevent  his  re- 
marriage? Even  her  maternal  partiality  could  not 
persuade  her  that  Phyllis  was  anything  like  as  attrac- 
tive as  Sheila. 

"Do  you  think,"  Vee  was  running  on,  "that  girls 
ever  were  really  like  that?  Pouting  and  babyish  and 
adorable  ?  I'm  sure  Ma  never  was — were  you,  Ma  ?" 

"Your  mother  was  a  handsome  girl,"  put  in 
Strachan  gallantly.  "I  remember  she  wore  a  thing 
they  called  a  bustle,  to  hold  out  her  frock  behind 

"  He  broke  off,  shouted  down  in  a  chorus  of 

"Shame!"  by  all  the  girls. 

In  the  laughter  which  followed  Mrs.  Brown  had 
time  to  regain  her  poise.  The  motoring  was  a  dar- 
ing scheme,  true,  but  so  delightfully  modern  and 
wealthy-sounding — quite  the  sort  of  plan  of  which 
she  could  boast  to  her  acquaintance.  Whatever  the 
Dorans  did  was  right  in  her  eyes,  and  that  her  own 
children  should,  by  their  cousin's  generosity,  be  in- 


90         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

eluded  in  the  tour,  was  a  source  of  gratification  which 
nothing  could  spoil. 
Vee  burst  out: 

"There  once  was  a  bold  millionaire 
Who  conducted  a  bevy  of  fair 

Young  people  like  posies 

Of  lilies  and  roses — 
And  I  really  can't  think  how  he  dare!" 

"Impromptu?"  said  Doran  approvingly.  "Good, 
Miss  Veronica,  good  indeed!" 

"I  really  can't  think  how  he  dare!"  repeated 
Strachan  with  relish.  "My  accent  and  all,  you  little 
terror!" 

"I  mean  to  make  a  book  of  limericks  during  the 
tour  and  present  it  to  you,  Cousin  George,  on  our 
return — if  we  ever  do  return,  which  seems  to  me 
unlikely  now  that  I  know  the  Dorans'  chauffeur  is  to 
go  with  us,  as  he  is  celebrated  for  emptying  me  into 
ditches!  Ah,  well,  well!  That  was  a  first  instal- 
ment, merely  to  give  you  a  touch  of  my  quality !  It 
is  nothing,  simply  nothing  to  what  I  shall  venture 
upon  later  on  in  our  bold,  bad  career!  I  don't  know 
what  I  may  say  or  do,  as  Ma  won't  be  there  to  sit 
on  my  head!" 

"No,  but  I  shall,"  said  Doran  menacingly.  "Have 
I  your  leave,  Mrs.  Cranstoun-Brown,  to  correct  your 
daughter  judiciously?" 

"Steady!"  said  Strachan  dryly.  "If  this  trip 
comes  off,  it  is  understood,  please,  that  I  am  Dic- 
tator. I  dispense  the  higher,  low,  and  middle  jus- 
tice. All  offenders  are  brought  to  me  for  correc- 
tion." 


An  Exciting  Scheme  91 

"Agreed!"  was  the  unanimous  cry,  and  the  mil- 
lionaire looked  whimsically  at  his  cousin  Clara  with 
his  hand  outstretched. 

"Hear  that?  Can  there  be  a  doubt  of  my  con- 
trolling them  ?  This  expedition  will  glide  along  on 
velvet  now  that  everybody  knows  I  mean  to  run  it!" 


CHAPTER  X 

COMPARING    NOTES 

DIRECTLY  Strachan  and  his  secretary  were 
alone  together  after  breakfast  the  following 
morning  he  laid  his  hand  over  hers  as  she  sat  rather 
listlessly  at  the  table  awaiting  his  dictation. 

"And  now,  my  dear,  tell  Daddy  all  about  it,"  said 
he  tenderly. 

Charis  glanced  up  at  him,  hesitated.  Her  lip 
quivered. 

"You  don't  like  the  idea  of  this  trip?"  he  asked 
kindly. 

"Oh,  what  a  saint  you  are !  How  you  bear  with 
my  folly  and  tantrums  I"  she  murmured,  looking 
down  and  nervously  tracing  scrolls  on  her  blotting- 
paper.  "Do  please  remember  that  I'm  your  em- 
ployee  " 

"And  no  more?"  he  asked,  after  an  interval. 

His  voice  sounded  hurt,  she  thought. 

"You  are  much  more  to  me  than  just  my  em- 
ployer," she  said  in  a  low  voice,  "but  that  is  not  to 
the  point.  I — I've  never  told  you  anything  of 
myself — I  don't  say  my  Past,  for  that  sounds  lurid, 
and  very  unlike  the  facts,  which  are  dull  as  dull  can 
be.  But  I  think  you  know  that  I  have  left  home, 
and — and  that  I  don't  want  my  people  to  know  where 

92 


Comparing  Notes  93 

I  am  to  be  found.  .  .  .  Oh,  I'm  not  heartless.  I 
send  them  news  of  my  safety,  and  they  have  an  ad- 
dress to  which  they  can  write.  But  I  don't  want 
them  to  track  me  down.  In  fact,  I  won't  have  it, 
.  .  .  and,  you  know,  they  live  up  there." 

"Near  Brough?" 

"No.  Among  the  lakes.  Not  far  from  Hawes 
Water." 

"Oh,  but  we  can  easily  avoid " 

She  stopped  him,  with  passion.  "Don't!  Just 
fancy  my  whims  interfering  with  your  convenience ! 
You  must  go  where  you  like,  and  not  consider  me. 
If  you  are  going  in  that  direction,  I  can  easily  be 
taken  unwell  and  get  left  behind  for  a  few  days  .  .  . 
but  that  your  secretary  should  be  making  stipula- 
tions !  Well,  you  heard  what  Mrs.  Brown  thought 
of  me  last  night!" 

"I  regret  extremely  that  I  let  you  in  for  anything 
of  the  kind.  It  was  thoughtless  of  me.  Well;  but 
now  that  you  have  more  or  less  taken  me  into  your 
confidence,  the  thing  can  be  managed  without  an 
effort." 

"Don't  you  think,"  she  said,  colouring  deeply, 
and  evidently  forcing  herself  to  make  the  suggestion, 
"that  I  had  better  not  come  at  all?  Could  you  not 
do  without  me?  ...  Vee  is  very  capable,  and  a 
trained  secretary." 

He  turned  with  a  quick  movement  and  searched 
her  face.  "You  want  to  leave  me?" 

Her  answer  was  inaudible,  but  she  shook  her  head 
in  a  decided  negative.  He  subjoined,  after  a  silence, 


94         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"I  sometimes  think  you  are  in  some  trouble  I  could 
likely  help." 

She  cleared  her  throat.  "Then  I  am  giving  you 
quite  a  wrong  impression.  I  am  in  no  trouble.  I  am 
enjoying  myself  hugely.  I  am  absorbing  all  kinds 
of  new  impressions." 

"Studying  the  curious  underworld  squirming  be- 
neath your  microscope?" 

"Oh!"  She  started,  blushing  hotly.  "What  arc 
you  talking  about?" 

He  met  her  gaze  humorously.  "I'm  not  quite 
blind,  Miss  Garth;  and  remember,  you  did  let  slip 
the  fact  that  you  intended  to  write  a  book.  I  gather 
you  are  amassing  some  new  experiences?" 

"Indeed,  yes." 

"What  of  this  tour?    Won't  it  help ?" 

"Why,  of  course,  but " 

"From  my  point  of  view,"  he  said  seriously,  "your 
presence  will  be  invaluable.  Character  will  be  dis- 
played inevitably  during  such  long  periods  of  com- 
panionship. I  shall  need  my  watchwoman  more 
than  ever." 

She  dwelt  upon  his  kind,  wise  smile.  He  was 
extraordinarily  fascinating,  and  as  she  gazed  the 
smile  broadened,  became  in  fact  a  chuckle. 

"What  is  your  opinion  of  Vee?"  he  asked. 

"I  haven't  decided  yet.    But  I  think  I  like  her." 

"She  is  vain,  though.  She  likes  to  show  off.  She 
talks  at  large.  Her  sister  is  more  honest " 

"No !"  cried  Charis  quickly. 

"You  think  not?" 


Comparing  Notes  95 

"I  think  Phyllis  is  the  cunning  one.  Vee  is  easy 
to  see  through;  the  other  girl  is  continually  schem- 
ing." 

He  demurred.  Evidently  his  judgment  did  not 
jump  with  hers.  "Yesterday,  when  she  and  I  drove 
together,  I  found  her  more  conversable  than  I  ex- 
pected, and  she  seemed  to  be  a  right-minded  girl." 

Charis  laughed.  "I  begin  to  realise  that  you  do 
need  me,  badly,"  said  she.  "Men  seem  to  be  easily 
gulled.  But,  as  a  matter  of  fact,  I  have  not  nearly 
made  up  my  own  mind  yet.  I  only  know  which  of 
the  family  I  think  has  the  most  character,  so  far." 

"Which  is  that?" 

"The  son." 

"Gilbert?  Well,  now  you  do  surprise  me.  He 
seems  to  me  both  surly  and  stupid." 

"He  said  you  took  him  for  a  fool.  Can't  you  see 
that  his  refraining  from  any  attempt  to  curry  favour 
is  an  excellent  sign?  Especially  when  you  represent 
literally  his  only  hope " 

"His  only  hope  ?     How  so  ?" 

"Why,  the  war  cut  him  off  short,  just  as  he  had 
done  with  Oxford.  Now  he  is  back  in  civil  life,  at 
close  on  thirty,  with  no  prospects.  He  wants  to  go 
into  your  business " 

"Well,  but  do  just  say  what  it  is  you  see  in  him? 
I  grant  there  is  plenty  of  him  physically — but  besides 
that?" 

"Perhaps,"  said  she,  after  a  moment's  thought, 
"one  has  a  natural  sympathy  for  anybody  that  is 
starving." 


96         The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"Starving?" 

"Yes.  He  seems  to  me  as  though  all  the  better 
part  of  him  is  dwindling  and  pining  away  for  lack 
of  nourishment,  because  he  is  so  unlike  the  rest  of 
his  family." 

"Then  he  has  confided  in  you?" 
She  laughed  a  little.  "That  was  what  made  me 
think  it  might  perhaps  be  safer  for  me  not  to  go  with 
you  on  this  tour,"  said  she.  "Please  don't  think  me 
unduly  vain.  I  don't  suppose  myself  irresistible ;  but 
I  think  I  am  sympathetic,  and  if  a  man  has  literally 

nobody  else  to  speak  to !    However,  seriously, 

I  don't  think  we  need  fear  complications  of  that 
kind,  since  Mrs.  Varick  is  coming  too." 
He  looked  quite  startled.     "Mrs.  Varick?" 
"She  finds  Mr.  Gilbert  interesting,  I  am  sure,  and 
she  is  really  charming." 

"She  is  indeed.    But  older  than  he,  I  imagine." 
"Only  a  year  or  two.     What's  that?" 
He  fell  silent,  turning  over  these  side-lights  on 
the  situation  in  his  mind.    "I  can't  picture  any  pretty 
woman  looking  twice  at  Gilbert  Brown,"  he  said  at 
last. 

"As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  make  yourself  quite 
comfortable,"  she  answered  gaily;  "but  I  assure  you 
there  is  much  more  in  him  than  you  have  discov- 
ered. Do  try  and  cultivate  him.  He  will  never 
toady  to  you." 

"Yet  he  told  you  he  was  thirsting  for  sympathy?" 
"Mercy,  no!     Nothing  of  the  kind.     I  know  it 


Comparing  Notes  97 

by  my  psychological  insight — little  casual  things, 
dropped  unconsciously." 

"Things  he  would  never,  conceivably,  have  said 
tome?" 

"Certainly  not." 

He  smiled  upon  her  humorously.  "I'm  glad  you 
think  of  writing  a  book.  It  should  be  a  clever 
one." 

She  shook  her  head,  laughing. 

"What  impression,"  he  wished  to  know,  "was 
made  upon  you  by  the  psychology  of  the  great  Major 
Doran?" 

"Ah,"  said  she  mischievously,  "I  wasn't  hired  to 
report  upon  him.  His  psychology  doesn't  come  in." 

"Pardon  me.  If  he  should  marry  either  of  my 
young  cousins,  it  would  certainly  come  in." 

"I  see  1  Well  then,  after  what  I  heard  the  girls 
say,  I  was  agreeably  disappointed.  I  pictured  the 
spoilt  eligible  of  a  second-rate  neighbourhood.  But 
he  is  an  interesting  talker,  and  didn't  try  one  bit  to 
patronise  the  humble  secretary,  though  Vee  care- 
fully assured  him  of  my  dependent  position  at  once, 
to  save  mistakes." 

Strachan's  smile  widened  to  a  grin.  "I  advise 
you  to  begin  that  book  at  once,"  said  he,  taking  up 
the  letter  she  laid  before  him,  and  smoothing  it  out; 
"but  if  you  write  it  and  don't  give  me  a  chance  to 
read  it,  I'll  never  forgive  you  I" 


CHAPTER  XI 

COLONEL  MORRISON   WONDERS 

MAJOR  DORAN  and  Mrs.  Varick  dined  at 
Redmays  the  night  before  the  party  started 
on  their  tour.  Since  the  first  arrangement  the  party 
had  been  increased  by  the  addition  of  a  friend  of 
the  major's,  one  Colonel  Morrison. 

This  was  the  eldest  son  of  a  local  landowner.  He 
was  a  friend  of  Gilbert  and  Doran,  having  had 
much  to  do  with  the  raising  to  a  war-footing  of 
their  battalion. 

Mrs.  Cranstoun-Brown  did  not  welcome  his  so- 
ciety altogether,  since  she  believed  him  to  have  in- 
tentions upon  Mrs.  Varick.  But,  on  the  other  hand, 
he  represented  the  top  note  of  social  importance 
in  her  eyes.  He  intended  to  stand  for  the  con- 
stituency at  the  next  election,  and  the  thought  of 
being  able  to  talk  to  her  friends  of  his  presence 
as  a  member  of  the  party  gave  her  indescribable 
pleasure. 

She  looked  back  with  thankfulness  upon  her  own 
foresight  in  determining  that  Gilbert  and  Vee  should 
go  to  Oxford.  Joseph  had  had  his  doubts,  but  she 
had  insisted.  Her  children  would  now,  she  hoped, 
take  their  places  one  step  higher  on  the  ladder  than 

98 


Colonel  Morrison  Wonders       99 

their  parents,  a  circumstance  which  seemed  to  their 
mother  matter  for  rejoicing. 

What  with  her  anxieties  respecting  the  disposal 
of  Strachan's  fortune,  and  her  matrimonial  schemes, 
she  was  consumed  with  an  excitement  and  a  pre- 
occupation which  she  found  most  distracting.  She 
had  taken,  by  slow  degrees,  a  fixed  and  increasing 
dislike  to  Miss  Garth,  and  was  convinced  that  this 
young  woman  meant  to  marry  either  the  millionaire 
himself,  or  her  son,  the  millionaire's  heir.  It  was 
her  daily  manoeuvre  to  prevent  Charis  from  being 
seated  next  either  Strachan  or  Gilbert  at  table. 
Charis  was  usually  placed  between  her  host  and 
Phyllis;  but  on  this  night  Colonel  Morrison's  pres- 
ence made  the  sexes  equal,  and  it  was  impossible 
to  avoid  putting  Gilbert  on  one  side  of  the  siren. 

As  soon  as  the  talk  became  general,  Gilbert 
started  to  make  the  most  of  his  chance. 

"Do  you  remember  Doran,  when  he  was  here  the 
other  night,  called  me  Cymon,  and  said  I  had  not 
met  my  Iphigenia?" 

"Yes,  I  think  I  do." 

"I  had  no  idea  what  he  meant.  I  thought  of 
Simple  Simon,  or  something  else  equally  uncompli- 
mentary. Of  course,  there  was  not  a  Boccaccio  in 
the  house ;  but  I  bought  one,  and  found  out." 

Miss  Garth  had  grown  red.  "Major  Doran  has 
a  smart  tongue,"  said  she,  "and  people  who  talk 
smartly  are  apt  to  be  careless.  The  allusion  was 
neither  courteous  nor  true." 

"It  was  awfully  interesting,"  he  replied,  "and  I 


ioo       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

have  been  thinking  about  it  a  good  deal.  I  am  so 
like  Cymon  that  I  can  follow  the  workings  of  his 
mind.  I  have  always  realised  that  I  don't  easily  get 
on  with  people;  but  I  knew  that  was  because  I  don't 
like  what  they  like,  or  think  as  they  think.  It  did 
not  dawn  on  me  that  everybody  looked  on  me  as  a 
dolt.  Well,  I  think  Cymon  was  in  the  same  case. 
He  wasn't  an  idiot  really — he  had  simply  never  be- 
fore come  across  the  thing  he  was  looking  for — 
like  a  match  that  has  never  been  struck,  you  know. 
I  expect  he  wished,  afterwards,  that  the  thing  had 
never  happened.  It's  a  bad  thing  for  shepherds  to 
cultivate  a  taste  for  king's  daughters,  isn't  it?" 

Miss  Garth  was  so  surprised  that  she  was  taken 
at  a  disadvantage.  "That  would  depend,  wouldn't 
it,"  she  answered  vaguely,  "on  him,  and  on  the 
princess  too?" 

"You  mean,  was  she  what  Hans  Andersen  calls  a 
real  princess?" 

"Perhaps  I  meant  rather — what  did  she  stand 
for,  to  him?  If  the  sight  of  her  opened  his  eyes  to 
what  was  noble  and  beautiful,  he  would  be  better 
and  happier  for  the  meeting,  would  he  not?" 

"What,  if  he  had  to  go  back  and  marry  into  his 
own  class?" 

"Now,  what  has  class  to  do  with  it?  Is  there 
no  beauty  or  nobility  but  in  one?  His  vision  of  the 
princess  has  taught  him  to  look  out  for  it,  and  if  he 
seeks  he  will  find." 

After  a  pause  Gilbert  said :  "Cymon  wasn't  seek- 


Colonel  Morrison  Wonders     101 

ing.  He  was  just  mooning  along  as  usual  .  .  .  and 
there  she  was." 

"But  don't  you  see" — she  was  talking  eagerly 
now,  as  to  an  equal — "half  the  significance  of  what 
you  perceive  is  in  yourself!  You  were  right  when 
you  said  Cymon  cannot  have  been  a  dolt.  If  there 
was  nothing  in  him  to  respond,  he  would  have  gazed 
unmoved  upon  the  loveliest  of  women." 

"Which  is  what  Ulysses  meant  when  he  said,  'I 
am  a  part  of  all  that  I  have  met.' ' 

She  was  surprised  at  his  aptness. 

"Do  you  feel  it  a  difficulty,"  he  went  on,  "that 
the  Kingdom  of  Heaven  is  sometimes  found  by  those 
who  don't  know  they  are  looking  for  it?" 

"No.  Because  their  part  comes  after  the  dis- 
covery. They  must  go  and  sell  all  they  have  and 
buy  the  field.  There  are  the  two  qualities  that  make 
all  greatness — effort  and  sacrifice !" 

"If  they  preached  like  that  in  church,  they  might 
get  one  to  listen,"  observed  Gil  without  a  smile." 

"Preaching,  indeed!"  she  answered  lightly.  "Let 
us  talk  of  something  less  grave — the  fun  we  shall 
have  to-morrow  I  Will  you  not  be  glad  not  to  have 
to  put  on  a  stiff  collar  and  go  to  the  city?  Doesn't 
the  thought  make  your  blood  dance?" 

"So  much  so  that  I  have  to  sit  tight  and  keep  it 
under,"  he  replied.  "I  can  hardly  believe  it  can  be 
going  to  happen  to  me.  I  wish  I  need  never  go  back 
to  a  London  office.  However,  when  I  catch  myself 
feeling  like  that  in  future,  I  shall  say  to  myself, 
'Effort  and  sacrifice.'  " 


IO2       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

As  her  eyes  met  his  for  a  moment,  Charis  shiv- 
ered. This  must  not  be.  She  turned  to  her  host, 
who  was  on  her  other  side,  and  definitely  included 
him  in  the  conversation.  He  was  a  great  authority 
upon  the  roads  in  his  neighbourhood,  and  she  suc- 
ceeded in  interesting  him  so  much  that  his  son  could 
not  lure  her  back  into  the  intimacy  of  private  talk. 

After  dinner,  someone — nobody  quite  knew  who 
— suggested  Dumb  Crambo. 

In  the  unimaginative  family  of  Cranstoun-Brown 
it  had  never  been  seen  before.  The  Dorans,  how- 
ever, were  quite  used  to  it,  so  Mrs.  Brown,  at  first 
somewhat  inclined  to  bristle,  soon  grew  to  think  it 
the  most  delightful  of  sports. 

She  was  amazed,  as  was  also  Strachan,  at  the 
effects  produced  with  a  few  scarves,  cloaks,  hats,  and 
shawls.  Miss  Garth,  it  soon  appeared,  was  an 
adept,  and  Major  Doran  contrived  to  appear  in 
almost  every  scene  in  conjunction  with  her.  They 
sat  together  in  a  casino,  with  cigarettes  and  little 
piles  of  money,  with  Gilbert  as  croupier  and  Mor- 
rison as  a  plunger  who  finally  put  a  revolver  to  his 
own  head  and  shot  himself.  They  strolled  past  a 
ranting  speaker  in  Hyde  Park,  and  stood  to  listen 
to  what  he  said,  while  Vee  picked  their  pockets  and 
was  arrested  by  Gil,  in  an  old  volunteer  uniform. 
Then  Doran  played  a  serenade  under  her  window, 
and  she  leaned  out  and  tossed  him  a  rose. 

In  the  midst  of  her  complacency  this  angered 
Mrs.  Brown,  who  ascribed  all 'to  the  secretary's 


Colonel  Morrison  Wonders     103 

machinations.  However,  Strachan,  who  sat  beside 
her,  was  so  delighted  and  amused  that  she  was 
ashamed  to  show  any  dissatisfaction. 

Gilbert  had  at  first  declined  to  take  any  part  in 
the  proceedings.  Miss  Garth  quickly  induced  him 
to  change  his  mind,  and  he  proved,  in  fact,  a  great 
acquisition,  having  perfect  control  over  his  facial 
muscles. 

Towards  the  end  of  the  evening,  when  invention 
was  waning,  and  the  fatigued  company  was  search- 
ing for  a  rhyme  to  the  word  "bake,"  Gilbert  sud- 
denly went  up  to  Miss  Garth  and  said,  "Let  us  have 
a  really  good  one  for  the  last.  Let  it  be  'Wake.' 
I'll  be  Cymon  if  you'll  be  Iphigenia." 

He  said  it  purposely  in  the  hearing  of  Doran, 
who  eagerly  caught  up  the  idea.  Miss  Garth 
pressed  the  part  upon  Mrs.  Varick,  but  as  she  had 
just  been  performing  the  death  of  Cleopatra,  she 
declined,  and  began  to  help  group  the  picture  before 
Charis  had  time  to  object.  Gilbert  placed  screens 
across  the  garden  end  of  the  drawing-room,  so  that 
the  audience  could  not  see  his  arrangement  of  the 
couch  covered  with  a  leopard-skin.  He  then  pro- 
ceeded to  attire  himself,  by  wrapping  puttees  round 
his  evening  trousers,  taking  off  his  coat,  rolling  the 
sleeves  back  from  his  brawny  arms,  wrapping  him- 
self in  a  rough  frieze  cloak,  and  ruffling  his  hair  till 
it  fell  over  his  forehead. 

Miss  Garth  let  down  her  tumultuous  locks,  and 
lay  on  the  couch  with  her  white  dress  draped  in 


104       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

silvery  drapery,  and  Doran  grouped  the  other  girls 
in  attitudes  of  slumber  about  her  feet. 

When  the  screens  were  withdrawn,  Gil  was  out- 
side, in  the  blue  summer  night.  The  gravel  crunched 
under  his  deliberate  tread,  and  he  came  in,  carrying 
his  alpenstock,  shaded  his  eyes,  peered  at  the  sleep- 
ing group,  advanced,  and  halted  at  the  foot  of  the 
couch  like  a  man  turned  to  stone. 

It  was  all  a  makeshift,  rough,  unfinished,  but  it 
was  quite  beautiful.  Strachan  felt  himself  holding 
his  breath. 

Gil,  after  standing  perfectly  still  for  a  long 
breathing  space,  moved  a  little  nearer,  sank  to  his 
knees,  and  clasped  his  hands. 

"I  hope  he  won't  kiss  her,"  muttered  the  hostess 
uneasily. 

"That,"  said  Doran,  "would  be  quite  out  of  keep- 
ing. This  is  not  the  Sleeping  Beauty.  It  is  the 
Boccaccio  story  of  Cymon  and  Iphigenia." 

"Oh,  of  course,"  said  the  lady,  who  had  never 
heard  of  the  author,  but  in  view  of  the  intimacy 
which  seemed  to  exist  between  him  and  Major 
Doran  dare  not  say  so. 

Strachan  came  to  her  rescue  with  an  avowal  of 
the  utmost  frankness.  "I  confess  to  ignorance, 
Doran.  I  know  of  only  one  Iphigenia,  and  she,  if 
memory  does  not  play  me  false,  was  the  daughter 
of  Agamemnon." 

The  Major  rose,  and  drew  the  screen  across. 
"The  story  is  that  Cymon,  who  had  always  been 


Colonel  Morrison  Wonders     105 

taken  for  a  fool,  was  uplifted  by  the  sight  of  per- 
fect beauty  and  perfect  purity  into  a  fully  developed 
and  charming  young  man.  It's  not  unlikely,  you 
know.  The  sort  of  thing  that  does  happen,  now 
and  then." 

An  uncomfortable  instinct  told  Strachan  that  it 
had  undoubtedly  happened  to  his  cousin  Gilbert. 

"Well,"  said  Mrs.  Varick,  as  she  and  the  two 
gentlemen  were  whizzed  homeward,  "how  do  you 
like  your  future  fellow-travellers,  Colonel?" 

"Quite  pleasant  people,"  he  returned,  with  cor- 
diality, "especially  Mr.  Strachan.  The  lady  who 
makes  most  impression  is,  however,  the  visitor,  Miss 
Garford,  or  Garforth,  I  think." 

"Oh!  Mr.  Strachan's  secretary,  who  is  staying 
in  the  house.  Garth  is  the  name,  not  Garford." 

"Garth!"  said  Morrison,  sitting  suddenly  erect. 
"Did  you  say  Garth?" 

"Why,  do  you  know  her?  No  relation  of  the 
General — I  asked  her." 

"Some  friends  of  mine,"  began  Morrison,  and 
paused.  "Do  you  happen  to  know  who  she  is,  and 
where  she  comes  from?"  he  asked. 

"Sorry,"  said  Mrs.  Varick  discouragingly,  "I 
never  heard  of  her  until  Mr.  Strachan  brought  her 
to  stay  at  Redmays." 

"You  haven't  by  chance  heard  her  refer  to  the 
Trenby  Hostel?  It's  a  sort  of  residential  club  for 
ladies  in  London." 


106        The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"We  can  easily  find  out  in  the  course  of  our 
travels,"  suggested  the  Major. 

"Is  she  coming  along?  Good!"  said  Morrison, 
with  satisfaction.  "If  she  should  be  the  girl  I  think 
she  is — rather  fun.  I  wonder  1" 


CHAPTER  XII 

IN  TEESDALE 

DEAR  CLEM, — Your  letter  sounds  horribly 
like  a  threat.  You  say  that  you  have  dis- 
covered my  alias  and  will  set  detectives  to  trace 
me.  But  what,  conceivably,  could  you  gain  by  that? 
I  imagine  that  it  would  not  be  hard  to  find  me.  And 
afterwards — what?  You  talk  as  if  you  could  have 
me  arrested,  or  brought  to  justice.  But  you  can't! 
I  have  done  nothing  except  try  to  put  myself  out 
of  reach  of  your  importunity;  and  I  only  did  that 
after  warning  you  very  plainly. 

"Let  me  write  down  once  more,  in  so  many  words, 
my  unalterable  decision,  /  will  not  marry  you — ever. 

"I  know  I  have  taken  back  my  word.  I  know  we 
were  engaged,  and  I  have  ended  the  engagement. 
I  am  ashamed  of  myself,  but  I  don't  regret  what  I 
did.  You  talk  as  if  I  had  broken  a  marriage  vow. 
Nothing  of  the  kind.  I  have  merely  changed  my 
mind  before  it  was  too  late. 

"I  am  quite  certain  Dad  does  not — cannot — 
know  how  you  are  behaving;  unless  you  have  got 
hold  of  Bertalda  and  enlisted  her  help  to  coerce 
the  poor  old  man,  as  you  have  tried  to  coerce  me ! 
So  far,  I  have  not  distressed  him  by  telling  him  what 

107 


io8        The  Judgment  of  Charis 

you  are  making  me  endure ;  but  I  advise  you  gravely 
— don't  push  me  too  far. 

"In  a  word,  you  have  got  to  take  me  seriously. 
I  am  altogether  in  earnest.  I  am  by  no  means  des- 
titute (as  you  suggest)  of  family  feeling.  I  would 
do  a  great  deal  to  keep  the  property  together;  but 
I  stop  short  of  making  myself  an  Iphigenia.  It  is 
not  solely  selfishness  which  moves  me — it  is  partly 
of  you  that  I  think;  for  if  I  were  miserable  in  mar- 
riage, I  should  inevitably  make  you  miserable  too. 
You  and  I  could  never  live  together.  Though  we 
are  of  the  same  blood,  your  country  is  not  my  coun- 
try, neither  are  your  gods  my  gods.  So  please, 
Clem,  don't, annoy  me  any  more,  otherwise  I  may 
take  steps  which  you  will  regret  very  much. — Your 
affectionate  cousin,  CHARIS  OSBOURNE." 

Miss  Garth  laid  down  her  pen  and  sighed.  She 
sat  in  that  historic  room  in  the  King's  Head,  Bar- 
nard Castle,  which  is  known  as  the  Dickens  room; 
and  as  it  was  Wednesday,  which,  as  all  the  world 
knows,  is  market-day  in  "Barney,"  she  gazed  out 
over  a  scene  of  lively  activity. 

To  her  right  the  market  house,  where  sat  the 
farmers'  wives,  in  from  the  Dales  with  their  but- 
ter, cheese,  poultry  and  eggs,  was  like  a  swarming 
hive,  with  busy  customers  popping  in  and  out  of 
every  entrance.  Before  her,  the  long,  narrow,  un- 
even market-square  was  choked  in  the  centre  with 
every  kind  of  vehicle,  chiefly  dog-carts  and  gov- 
erness carts,  but  with  a  good  sprinkling  of  "Fords" 


In  Teesdale  109 

— all  lying  idle  while  their  owners  bought  and  sold, 
ate  and  drank,  or  visited  their  lawyer  and  their 
bank.  Had  she  known  it,  she  was  close  to  the  scene 
of  a  wonderful  war-feat;  for  it  was  here,  in  this 
market-place,  that  a  young  and  beautiful  girl  dur- 
ing the  war  "carried  on"  a  solicitor's  business  for  a 
dead  father  and  absent  brother.  In  those  days, 
the  hard-bitten  farmers  of  the  Dale  found  a  pretext 
most  market-days  to  "look  in"  upon  their  legal  ad- 
viser! But  that  is  another  story. 

Charis  was  alone  in  the  Dickens  room.  She  had 
begged  to  be  left  to  finish  Strachan's  correspond- 
ence, while  the  others  went  to  investigate  the  mar- 
ket, to  photograph  the  Norman  door  of  the  church, 
and  to  see  the  celebrated  "Blagrove's  House,"  where 
Cromwell  lay  one  historic  night. 

Her  business  done,  she  had  seized  the  chance  to 
indite  the  letter  here  given;  and  she  had  barely 
finished,  stamped  and  sealed  it,  when  rapid  foot- 
steps were  heard  approaching,  and  Major  Doran 
peeped  in. 

"Miss  Garth — I'm  sent  to  bring  you  to  the 
Castle!  Come  along — you  must  see  it — the  view 
along  the  Tees  is  simply  topping!" 

The  summons  brought  her  back  to  the  present 
moment  in  welcome  fashion.  Gladly  she  turned  her 
thoughts  from  disagreeable  preoccupations,  and 
catching  up  her  hat  from  the  table,  stood  before 
the  mirror  to  pin  it  on. 

Doran,  watching  the  performance,  was  approv- 
ing the  hat  and  its  wearer.  Since  quitting  the  re- 


no       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

pressive  influence  of  Streatwood  and  Mrs.  Crans- 
toun-Brown,  Charis  had  insensibly  slackened  slightly 
in  her  restraint,  and  ceased  consciously  to  play  the 
part  of  a  salaried  employee.  "I'm  just  ready,"  she 
said  joyously.  "Will  you  collect  that  package  of 
letters,  please?  We  will  put  them  in  the  box  as  we 
go  down !  What  a  gay  old  town  this  is,  isn't  it?" 

"I  expect  it's  not  always  as  brisk  as  it  is  on  mar- 
ket-days," said  the  Major,  "but  for  natural  beauty 
of  situation,  I  know  few  towns  to  beat  it.  Have 
you  a  sunshade  to  protect  that  dinky  hat?  Come 
along!" 

Together  they  issued  into  the  sunny  market- 
place ;  but,  turning  immediately  to  their  left,  passed 
under  the  inn,  through  what  were  once  the  outer 
courts  of  the  mighty  fortress  built  by  Bernard  de 
Balliol,  to  the  entrance  of  the  poor  yet  majestic 
remnant  now  standing.  The  rest  of  the  party  were 
awaiting  them  within  the  keep  itself,  where  Sheila 
Varick,  who  was  a  great  amateur  photographer,  was 
busy  obtaining  a  snapshot  of  the  raging  river  and 
high  woods  from  the  window.  Gilbert  Brown  was 
helping  her — he  was  a  man  who  could  do  most  things 
with  his  hands — and  he  had  an  unerring  eye  for 
the  best  view-point.  Sheila  was  looking  sweet,  in 
her  dainty  linen  gown,  her  face  flushed  with  the; 
interest  and  pleasure  of  the  moment.  For  the  last 
few  years  she  had  had  no  heart  for  life — no  force 
for  the  gaiety  natural  to  her;  now,  for  the  first  time 
since  her  widowhood,  this  was  returning. 


In  Teesdale  ill 

"Ha!"  said  she,  "here  come  Norman  and  Miss 
Garth  I  I  really  think  that  is  a  case,  you  know." 

"Oh?"  said  Gilbert  in  his  non-committal  fashion. 

"Well — look  at  him!  And  think  of  his  usual 
manner  with  girls !  I  couldn't  believe  it  at  first." 

"Why,  because  you  thought  he  would  look 
higher?" 

"No,  because  I  undervalued  his  taste,"  said  she 
mischievously.  "Miss  Garth's  style  is  a  bit  subtle, 
you  know.  I  should  not  have  felt  certain  of  Nor- 
man's appreciating  her." 

"Would  you  be  pleased,  then,  if " 

"If  he  had  strength  of  mind  to  let  it  be  known  in 
Streatwood  that  he  had  succumbed  to  a  nobody  with 
nothing — speaking  as  the  world  speaks?  Well, 
then,  yes!  I  should.  It  would  be  very  good  for 
Norman  to  have  to  go  through  such  an  ordeal ;  and 
also  I  think  very  good  for  him  to  have  a  wife  of 
such  a  calibre. 

"You  call  her— subtle?" 

"Well— don't  you?" 

"I'm  no  judge — of  anything." 

"Sorry  to  hear  that.  Have  I  then  no  grounds 
for  pride  when  you  praise  my  photographs?" 

"I'm  afraid  not.  I  have  no  standards.  I  only 
know  what  I  like." 

"Your  saying  that  shows  that  you  might  acquire 
standards?" 

"Perhaps.  But  it's  a  long  business.  I  expect 
I  awoke  too  late " 

"Jwoket" 


H2       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

" and  the  atmosphere  at  Redmays  is  not 

stimulating  to  intellectual  effort." 

Mrs.  Varick  laughed,  a  delicious  gurgling  laugh, 
and  looked  at  Gilbert  with  deep  interest. 

"It  isn't  exactly  intellect  that  you  have,"  said  she 
musingly.  "It's  character.  I  think  you  are  remark- 
able." 

"So  I  am.  Remarkably  commonplace.  I  some- 
times think  I'm  more  like  a  whetstone  than  any- 
thing else — something  for  other  people  to  sharpen 
their  wits  upon." 

Her  reply  to  this  was  lost  in  the  sound  of  the 
advancing  party,  who  now  surged  up  the  stairs  from 
the  guard-room,  all  of  them  talking  at  once. 

"Mrs.  Varick,"  said  Strachan,  "no  more  photog- 
raphy for  the  minute,  please.  You  are  coming  with 
me  to  the  top  of  the  tower." 

"Of  course  I  am,  you  irresistible  man!  Or  to 
the  moon  if  you  should  so  order  it!  Where,"  she 
went  on  as  she  followed  him  up  the  stair,  "has  your 
High  Mightiness  arranged  for  us  to  go  this  after- 
noon?" 

"I  have  planned  that  we  will  go  where  you  choose. 
But  since  the  world  is  wide,  I  have  taken  the  pre- 
caution of  collecting  a  few  alternatives  to  set  be- 
fore you.  Ah — now!  What  do  you  think  of  that 
for  a  prospect?" 

They  had  emerged  from  the  narrow  ascent  in  the 
thickness  of  the  wall,  to  where  the  roofless,  broken 
keep  stands  open  to  the  day,  with  a  few  more 
pathetic  steps,  leading  on,  leading  nowhither. 


In  Teesdale  113 

Strachan  seated  Mrs.  Varick  upon  the  topmost  one 
and  with  a  sweep  of  the  arm  bade  her  look  around. 

"The  world,"  said  she,  with  a  sigh  of  pleasure, 
"is  indeed  wide." 

There  lay  before  her  on  the  one  hand  the  roll- 
ing slopes  which  run  down  toward  the  plain  of  York 
and  the  industrial  towns.  Beneath,  the  tumbling, 
rocky  Tees  was  caught  in  the  teeth  of  one  black, 
wicked-looking  mill  before  it  streamed  under  the 
arches  of  the  massive  Tudor  bridge  which  spans  it 
just  at  the  foot  of  Bernard's  stronghold.  Far  away 
north  and  west  the  blue  lines  of  the  Pennines  lifted 
like  a  heaving  sea. 

Strachan  stared  at  the  river.  "I  saw  it  once,  in 
spate — don't  ask  me  how  many  years  ago.  I  was 
a  little  lad  at  the  time.  That  year,  the  flood  entered 
and  destroyed  some  old  slum  houses  that  used  to 
stand  over  there.  It  came  down  so  sharply  that  it 
caught  a  man  with  a  horse  and  cart  upon  the  bridge 
itself.  I  didn't  see  that  happen.  .  .  .  On  the  para- 
pet of  that  same  bridge  is  a  dab  of  colour — red 
colour — which  they  renew  every  year,  to  mark  the 
place  where  one  dark  night  a  man  flung  his  sweet- 
heart into  the  river  and  drowned  her.  ...  As  you 
may  have  heard  Vee  reading  out  of  the  guide-book 
just  now,  the  spectre  of  Richard  the  Third  is  sup- 
posed to  haunt  this  castle.  That  window,  with  no 
chamber  behind  it,  overlooking  the  river,  was  the 
window  of  his  room.  They  say  a  light  burns  there, 
times,  after  dark.  .  .  .  When  I  was  a  boy  I  would 
slink  out  nights,  in  hopes  I  would  see  that  ghastly 


H4       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

glimmer.  I  never  did.  But  there  was  an  old  man 
lived  in  Barney  then,  who  swore  to  me  that  he  had 
seen  it." 

"You  make  me  feel  the  spell  of  the  place,"  mur- 
mured Sheila,  looking  at  him  very  sweetly.  "I  do 
like  touring  with  you." 

"I  little  thought  then  that  I  would  one  day  be 
back  here,  with  money  enough  to  buy  the  borough," 
he  mused  on,  aloud.  "I  longed  for  money  then; 
and  I  have  got  it.  But" — his  voice  broke  oddly — 
"I  have  lost  all  the  rest." 

"I  too,"  said  Sheila  heavily;  and  she  laid  warm, 
sympathetic  fingers  over  his. 

"Ah,  but  you  are  young — life  is  before  you  yet. 
I  have  made  my  throw,  and  lost  it." 

"Yet  you're  brave  and  unselfish  enough  to  give 
others  a  pleasure  which  you  can't  altogether  share." 

"I  will  own,  Mrs.  Varick,  that  just  now  I  am 
finding  virtue  to  a  very  considerable  extent  its  own 
reward,"  he  broke  in,  with  his  twinkling  glance  of 
humour. 

"Oh!"  cried  she  suddenly,  "look  at  Mr.  Cran- 
stoun-Brown!  Is  it  safe?" 

Strachan  glanced  up.  Gilbert  and  Miss  Garth 
were  making  the  circuit  of  the  keep,  walking  upon 
the  broken  masonry.  He  smiled. 

"I  don't  think  there's  any  danger,  so  long  as  one 
has  a  good  head." 

The  Brown  girls  and  the  other  two  men  were, 
however,  of  Mrs.  Varick's  opinion,  and  a  chorus 


In  Teesdale  115 

of  cries  arose,  Doran  shouting  to  Gilbert  rather 
peevishly  not  to  allow  Miss  Garth  to  take  risks. 

"There's  no  question  of  permission,  thanks, 
Major,"  cried  Charis  airily.  "I  do  as  I  choose." 

"On  the  contrary,  Signorina,"  said  Strachan  in  a 
carrying  voice,  "you  do  as  /  choose." 

"Oh,   yes!     I    acknowledge   your   authority,    of 


course !" 


"Good !  Then  run  around  as  many  towers  as  you 
choose,  while  you  are  still  young  and  cool-headed." 

"Such  tosh!  No  danger  at  all,"  muttered  Gil- 
bert, giving  her  a  hand  down  to  the  tiny  gallery  in 
which  the  rest  of  them  were  crowded. 

"Is  this  afternoon's  expedition  decided?"  inquired 
Morrison  of  Strachan. 

"Well,  Mrs.  Varick  hasn't  yet  given  the  word 
Go;  but  the  suggestion  before  her  is  that  the  cars 
take  us  up  the  Durham  side  of  Tees  to  the  gate  lead- 
ing to  High  Shipley,  said  to  have  been  a  hunting- 
lodge  of  James  II.  There  you  shall  see  the  bed- 
stead upon  which,  so  says  tradition,  the  royal  limbs 
reposed.  After  that,  following  the  grass  ride  which 
was  once  the  avenue  of  approach  to  the  house,  we 
will  cross  the  Tees  and  ascend  the  bank,  past 
Woden's  Croft,  to  the  Fairy  Cupboards.  There  I 
trust  we  shall  find  Horn  with  the  tea-baskets;  and 
thence  we  will  motor  home." 

Mrs.  Varick  sighed  with  bliss.  "What  a  courier 
you  would  have  made !  And  what  an  abode  of  en- 
chantment this  neighbourhood  seems  to  be!  Mys- 


n6       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

terious  lights  in  ruins — royal  bedsteads — and  what, 
oh,  tell  us,  what  are  Fairy  Cupboards?" 

"They  are,  I  am  told,  the  result  of  the  grinding 
together  of  stone  and  water.  A  big  stone  is  washed 
down  into  a  recess  by  the  force  of  the  current,  and 
cannot  escape,  so  it  grinds  round  and  round  until  it 
grinds  itself  a  hole — like  those  moulins  they  show 
you  in  Lucerne." 

"Would  Fairy  Cupboards  be  good  places  in  which 
to  store  valuables,  I  wonder?"  said  Gilbert  dreamily, 
speaking  to  nobody  in  particular. 

"Let's  try!"  cried  Vee.  "We  will  each  deposit 
a  treasured  wish  in  one  of  the  Cupboards,  and  see 
what  the  fairies  do  with  it!" 

"They  are  presumably  Norse  fairies,"  chimed  in 
Morrison,  "so  near  to  Woden's  Croft,  and  Thor's 
Gill " 

"And  just  at  the  mouth  of  Baldur's  Dale,"  eagerly 
put  in  Charis.  "The  Danes  must  have  taken  posses- 
sion pretty  thoroughly  in  Teesdale." 

"The  place  is  chock-full  of  history,  right  along," 
said  the  gratified  Strachan.  "I  felt  sure  you  would 
all  like  it." 

"Cousin  George,  don't  let  us  be  in  too  great  a 
hurry  to  get  to  Aunt  Nicholson's,"  entreated  Vee. 
"Time  enough  to  arrive  when  this  weather  breaks." 

"Well,  it  seems  your  aunt  can't  do  with  us  just 
yet  awhile,"  was  the  reply,  as  he  took  a  letter  from 
his  pocket.  "Their  house  is  vurry  small;  they  can 
only  put  up  myself  and  the  two  girls.  The  rest  of 


In  Teesdale  117 

you  must  go  to  the  inn  at  Fratton  Beck,  and  they 
have  no  room  for  us  there  for  a  full  week." 

"Good  biz !"  cried  everybody,  in  a  kind  of  chorus. 

"And  so  say  all  of  us!"  sang  Vee,  as  a  move  was 
made  by  evacuating  the  keep.  The  others  took  up 
the  refrain,  and  a  smile  of  real  pleasure  and  gratifi- 
cation mantled  the  face  of  the  millionaire,  as,  in  the 

grassy  court  below,  he  bowed  his  acknowledgments. 

***** 

The  afternoon  proved  as  cloudlessly  fair  as  the 
morning  had  been;  and  the  river  valley  was  at  its 
most  bewitching  as  they  descended,  through  a  steep 
green  wood,  to  the  boulder-strewn  curve  of  shore 
where  Horn,  the  chauffeur,  with  the  tea-hampers 
awaited  them. 

The  young  men  took  off  their  shoes  and  waded 
over  the  shelf-like  rocks  to  obtain  a  better  view  of 
the  curious  pot-holes  known  as  Fairy  Cupboards; 
which  really  are  a  good  deal  like  the  ambries  one 
finds  in  old  church  walls.  Vee  and  Charis  both  fol- 
lowed their  example,  to  the  annoyance  of  Phyllis, 
who  suffered  badly  from  corns,  and  could  not  show 
her  feet.  Poor  Phyllis !  She  would  have  died  rather 
than  admit  how  hard  she  found  it  to  fit  in  with  the 
rest  of  the  party.  Like  her  mother,  she  had  no 
sense  of  humour,  and,  could  she  have  found  some- 
one to  sentimentalise  with  her,  would  sooner  have 
used  these  romantic  spots  as  excuses  for  flirtation. 
She  made  the  attempt  in  turn  with  all  the  gentle- 
men of  the  party,  only  to  be  met  with  what  "she  de- 
scribed to  herself  as  "that  eternal  ragging." 


n8       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

In  full  hearing  of  Miss  Garth,  she  told  Veronica 
that  she  was  ashamed  of  her — messing  about  like  a 
tripper;  and  was  vexed  that  the  secretary  gave  no 
sign  of  either  hearing  or  heeding  what  she  said. 

Vee  merely  retorted  that  she  was  in  the  same 
happy  position  as  Mr.  Albert  Henry  Biwens,  hav- 
ing been  given  leave  to  paddle  by  her  Daddy 
Strachan;  and  as  Phyllis  was  the  sole  member  of 
the  party  who  did  not  know  her  "Just-so  Stories," 
she  once  more  felt  herself  isolated  and  aggrieved. 

"I  say,  Miss  Garth,  you've  left  your  shoes  and 
stockings  in  rather  a  damp  place  1"  called  Doran. 

"Please  put  them  into  safety  for  me,"  cried  back 
the  girl,  who  had  ventured  right  across  the  river 
with  the  help  of  Gilbert.  The  Major  daintily  picked 
up  the  heap  of  feminine  trifles — a  little  bag,  gloves, 
footwear  and  handkerchief.  A  puff  of  air  caught 
the  latter  and  blew  it  upon  Colonel  Morrison's  knee, 
as  he  sat  by  Sheila  Varick. 

"Who's  the  owner  of  this  very  pretty  thing?"  he 
asked,  picking  it  up.  "Ah!  Initials  in  the  corner 
here:  C.  O.  Which  of  us  does  that  fit,  eh?" 

"It's  Miss  Garth's  handkerchief,"  said  the 
Major,  clambering  over  to  him  to  reclaim  it. 

Morrison  whistled  softly.  A  curious  look  crossed 
his  face,  and  he  arched  his  brows.  "Bit  of  a  give- 
away, that,"  he  murmured. 

"What's  the  matter?"  asked  Sheila  in  a  low  voice, 
arrested  by  his  expression. 

"Well,  Madame,  I'm  afraid  I  can't  tell  you.  It's 
a  very  curious  bit  of  confirmation  of  a  suspicion  I 


In  Teesdale  119 

have  had  ever  since  the  beginning  of  this  tour.  I'm 
wondering  whether,  though  I  mustn't  tell  you,  I 
ought  to  feel  myself  bound  to  tell  somebody  else." 

"I'm  half  dead  with  curiosity — but,  Colonel,  I 
tell  you  plainly — if  you  say  or  do  anything  to  dis- 
turb the  harmony  of  this  party,  I'll  never  forgive 
you!" 

"Precisely  my  own  feeling.  Especially  since  the 
young  lady  in  question  is  not,  so  far  as  I  know,  try- 
ing to  hide  anything  to  her  own  discredit.  If  I'm 
right  about  her — and  I'm  practically  certain  I  am 
— it's  exactly  the  contrary.  ...  So  I  believe,  for 
the  present,  I'll  let  things  slide — shall  I  ?" 


CHAPTER  XIII 

CHANGING   PARTNERS 

EARLY  summer  is  the  hey-day  of  the  north. 
The  wealth  of  wild  flowers,  the  carpets  of 
primrose  and  blue-bell  in  the  woods,  the  white  mist 
of  bird-cherry  and  hawthorn  bloom,  made  it  seem 
an  enchanted  land. 

Charis  was  finding  the  days  quite  unexpectedly 
agreeable.  Major  Doran,  his  sister,  and  the 
Colonel,  were  all  interesting — the  Major  amusing, 
the  Colonel  cultivated,  and  Mrs.  Varick  witty.  Gil- 
bert Brown  was  taciturn,  but  when  he  spoke,  it  was 
to  the  point;  while  Veronica,  though  jarring  at 
times,  was  occasionally  almost  brilliant.  In  short, 
the  fly  in  the  ointment  was  the  elder  Miss  Brown; 
and  she,  never  intentionally  comic,  was  uninten- 
tionally so,  in  the  persistent  clumsiness  with  which 
she  set  herself  to  woo  George  Strachan,  the  object 
of  her  attentions  being  not  only  unconscious  of 
them,  but  also  the  sole  member  of  the  party  who 
remained  so. 

He  thought  Phyllis  a  good  sort  of  girl,  stupid, 
and  somewhat  outclassed  by  the  nimble  wits  of  the 
others;  and  in  his  anxiety  that  she  should  not  feel 
out  of  it,  there  was,  it  must  be  owned,  some 
emphasis  laid  upon  the  distinguished  kindness  which 

120 


Changing  Partners  12 1 

he  showed  her;  and  this,  in  her  conceit,  she  accepted 
as  a  sign  that  he  meant  to  make  her  his  wife. 

Looking  upon  him  as  her  own  property,  she  was 
resenting,  every  day  more  definitely,  the  tender  kind 
of  intimacy  which  existed,  beyond  doubt,  between 
Strachan  and  his  secretary.  Phyllis  told  herself  that 
he  would  be  altogether  hers  were  it  not  for  the 
machinations  of  Miss  Garth.  She  never  lost  a 
chance  of  snubbing  or  contradicting  Charis,  often 
in  the  hearing  of  the  others. 

Her  venom  grew  each  hour  more  difficult  to  hide, 
as  each  completed  day  of  their  tour  found  her  still 
short  of  the  goal  it  was  so  essential  she  should  reach. 

One  morning,  Vee,  opening  a  letter  from  their 
mother,  took  out  an  enclosure,  glanced  at  the  ad- 
dress, and  tossed  it  across  the  breakfast-table  to 
Phyllis,  with  a  meaning  glance. 

"Look  out,  Phyl,"  said  she  warningly.  "I  won- 
der Ma  didn't  open  that." 

Phyl,  with  one  of  her  deep,  purplish  blushes,  took 
the  letter  and  stuffed  it  into  her  little  bag.  "Non- 
sense," said  she  tartly. 

"Well,  I  advise  you  to  do  something  about  it," 
returned  Vee  in  an  irritating  manner;  and  Charis 
wondered  what  was  behind.  The  commercial- 
shaped  envelope  seemed  to  contain  a  bill. 

All  that  day  Phyllis  stuck  to  her  cousin  with  a 
persistence  which  at  last  wearied  even  his  good 
temper. 

"Try,"  said  he  to  Charis  after  lunch,  "to  get  Phyl 
put  into  the  other  car  for  a  change,  will  you?  I 


122       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

have  had  her  company  ever  since  I  got  up  this  morn- 
ing, and  I'm  about  through  with  her.  She's  a  good 
enough  girl,  but  it's  like  carrying  about  a  tame 
echo — ditto  to  everything  I  say.  Wearisome." 

It  was  so  seldom  his  patience  gave  out,  that 
Charis  determined  it  should  be  as  he  desired.  But 
she  got  no  opening  to  make  the  suggestion,  though 
she  was  occupied  with  schemes  for  bringing  it  about. 
At  last,  finding  that  she  was  powerless,  single- 
handed  to  detach  the  devoted  follower,  she  deter- 
mined to  apply  to  Gilbert  for  help.  They  were 
spending  the  day  in  Richmond,  had  lunched  at  the 
hotel,  and  were  making  the  round  of  the  castle  ruins. 

They  had  all  crowded  into  the  diminutive  chapel 
in  the  outer  wall,  where  is  still  the  stone  slab  which 
once  served  for  an  altar,  and  the  remains  of  the 
carving  above  the  arcaded  seats  around  the  wall. 
Gilbert  lingered  within  when  the  rest  emerged, 
studying  the  light;  and  Charis  seized  her  chance. 

"Mrs.  Varick,"  he  was  remarking,  "wants  this 
photographed;  but  there's  no  light.  It  would  need 
a  longish  time-exposure." 

"Offer  to  do  it  for  her,"  murmured  the  girl 
quickly.  "I'll  stay  and  help.  I  want  to  ask  you 
something." 

He  raised  his  eyes  to  hers  with  the  steady,  earnest 
look  he  always  gave  her;  and  after  a  just  perceptible 
moment  in  which  he  let  her  wish  sink  in,  as  it  were, 
he  said  quietly:  "Right.  I'll  fetch  the  tripod." 

When  he  returned,  bringing  the  camera,  she  sat 
niched  in  one  of  the  arched  recesses. 


Changing  Partners  123 

"I'd  like  a  picture  of  you  there — like  that,"  he 
remarked,  in  contemplation;  and  his  face  was  that 
of  a  votary. 

"No — not  here,"  she  cut  in  quickly.  "Don't  spoil 
the  dignity  of  this  beautiful  place  like  that." 

He  smiled  with  a  quiet  relish  as  he  adjusted  his 
instrument.  "I  like  to  watch  your  face  when  you 
are  in  these  places,"  he  said.  "You  are  so  far  away. 
More  than  once  I  have  addressed  you  and  you 
haven't  heard.  I  know  you  are  back  in  the  times 
when  this  place  was  in  full  going  order." 

"You  know  that  ?    But  how  ?" 

"Set  a  thief  to  catch  a  thief.  It's  because  I'm 
like  that  myself." 

She  laughed  in  triumph.  "Aha !  Then  you  can 
sympathise !  But  you  are  such  a  moderate  minded 
person." 

"Am  I?" 

"You  seem  so!  Now  I  am  conscious  of  a  crav- 
ing so  violent  that  I'm  quite  ashamed  of  it,  to 
glimpse  one  of  these  places  as  it  used  to  be.  ... 
Those  passage-ways  in  the  wall,  that  now  look  out 
on  vacancy  .  .  .  think  of  the  slinking,  at  dead  of 
night,  of  some  caitiff  man-at-arms,  on  his  way  to 
show  a  signal  light  to  the  enemy!  Or  some  trem- 
bling lady,  thinking  she  heard  the  hoofs  of  her 
returning  lord's  steed  in  the  great  courtyard.  .  .  . 
Oh,  picture  the  gateway,  humming  with  life — churls 
bringing  in  country  produce — beggars,  harpers, 
strolling  players — pedlars  with  packs  full  of  the 
materials  for  ladies'  work  .  .  .  and  the  great 


124       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

kitchen,  where  perhaps  some  captive  enemy  turned 
the  spit — the  good  cheer,  and  heat  and  smoke  and 
dirt.  .  .  ." 

"Yes,  I  have  often  thought  of  it,"  he  said,  "and 
of  how  different  it  all  was,  and  yet  how  like  to  what 
goes  on  nowadays " 

She  broke  in:  "Yes!  Yes!  That  is  it!  They 
were  so  restricted  according  to  our  thinking — I  mean 
the  women,  of  course — and  yet  they  must  have  had 
a  good  deal  of  fun  that  we  miss  nowadays.  If  they 
had  no  theatres,  on  the  other  hand,  few  weeks 
passed  without  a  company  of  strolling  players,  who 
gave  a  performance  for  their  sole  benefit!  If  there 
were  no  shops  to  which  they  could  go,  at  least  they 
had  the  amusement  of  having  the  shops  come  to 
them — and  every  pedlar  brought  news  of  what  was 
happening  miles  and  miles  away !  If  the  society 
was  limited,  at  least  you  were  never  without  it — 
every  castle  had  its  own  retinue,  every  lady  her 
maids  of  honour,  every  lord  his  knights.  .  .  . 
Sometimes  I  think  the  feudal  system  came  near  to 
being  the  best  form  of  government  we  have  hit  upon 
hitherto." 

"But  it  would  be  of  no  use  to  try  and  restore  it 
now — it's  gone,  never  to  return,"  said  he  slowly 
and  as  though  he  were  considering  the  possibility. 

"Ah,  no  use — to  'revive  old  customs  thoroughly 
worn  out,  the  souls  of  them  fumed  forth,  the  hearts 
of  them  torn  out!' ' 

"If  one  could  buy  an  island,"  mused  he.  "An 
island  about  the  size  of  Corsica — and  start  there — 


Changing  Partners  125 

but  I  expect  you  are  right — it  would  be  only  acting 
— self-conscious  mimicry — like  the  modern  efforts 
after  simplicity  and  sandals — loathsome  posing." 

"Have  you  wanted  the  island?"  she  asked  medi- 
tatively. 

"Always.  Some  place  where  there  was  no  hired 
army,  but  where  every  citizen  must  bear  arms  to 
defend  his  home  if  necessary.  Oh,  I'm  a  deplorable 
ass !  I  believe  the  division  of  labour  is  the  root  of 
all  evil.  I  think  it  would  be  a  better  world  if  every 
man  could  lay  bricks  and  carve  wood  and  hunt  game 
and  teach  Latin  and  make  laws.  .  .  ." 

".  .  .  And  every  woman  could  bake  bread  and 
spin  wool  and  embroider,  and  sing  and  play  and 
dance.  .  .  .  Oh  reactionary!" 

They  laughed  into  each  other's  eyes. 

"No  lady  secretaries,"  she  suggested,  "unless 
some  maid  attired  herself  as  a  youth  and  boldly 
went  forth  to  seek  her  fortune  I" 

"Thanks,"  he  replied  dryly,  "that  decides  it.  No 
world  for  me  in  which  there  are  no  lady  secre- 
taries." 

"Do  you  know  we  are  talking  regrettable  non- 
sense," said  Charis  hastily,  "and  time  is  slipping  by, 
and  I  forgot  that  I  decoyed  you  here  to  try  and  get 
something  out  of  you — to  ask  you  to  contrive  some- 
thing for  me " 

"Right-o!  What  is  it?"  he  asked  tranquilly,  ac- 
cepting the  change  of  subject. 

"Mr.  Strachan  wants  a  change  of  lady  in  his  car," 
said  she.  "I  fancy  he  thinks  Mrs.  Varick  would  like 


126       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

to  be  invited  to  sit  by  him  for  the  afternoon.  That 
place  has  belonged  to  Miss  Cranstoun-Brown  ever 
since  we  started,  and  I  want  you  to  devise  some  way 
of  meeting  his  wishes  without  hurting  her  feelings. 
Could  you  persuade  Major  Doran  to  invite  her  to 
come  with  him?  She  would  like  that,  but  I  don't 
feel  that  I  dare  ask  him.  Yet  it  has  been  left  to 
me — I  feel  I  ought  to  do  it  if  I  can." 

"It  needs  doing,"  said  Gilbert  bluntly.  "Phyllis 
is  making  herself  and  Strachan  ridiculous.  If  it 
isn't  stopped  she  will  begin  to  believe  the  car  be- 
longs to  her.  I'll  see  to  it." 

"Without  hurting  her  feelings?"  earnestly  put 
in  Charis.  "I  am  sure  she  has  no  idea  that  she  is 
monopolising  her  host  unduly — but  Mr.  Strachan 
realises  he  has  a  duty  to  the  rest  of  the  party." 

"Leave  it  to  me,"  was  the  reply,  hardly  uttered 
before  the  careful  Phyllis,  who  had  been  strictly  en- 
joined by  her  mamma  never  to  allow  flirtation  be- 
tween Gilbert  and  Miss  Garth,  ran  into  the  chapel, 
and  had  to  be  forcibly  caught  and  held  by  her 
brother  to  prevent  the  ruin  of  a  photo. 

"What  a  blundering  donkey  you  are,  Phyl!"  was 
his  fraternal  amenity,  to  which  she  replied : 

"Blundering  donkey  yourself!  What  are  you 
about  here  in  this  dark  hole  ?  The  others  are  leav- 
ing— they  couldn't  think  what  had  become  of  you." 

"Keep  to  facts.  Mrs.  Varick  knew  I  was  here. 
I  am  doing  this  job  for  her." 

"Well,  but  I  mean  Miss  Garth.  Does  she  know 
she  is  keeping  Mr.  Strachan  waiting?" 


Changing  Partners  127 

The  girl's  manner  was  full  of  insolence,  and  the 
fact  that  Charis  was  quite  unmoved,  either  by  the 
information  or  the  way  in  which  it  was  conveyed, 
annoyed  her  to  the  point  of  indiscretion. 

"If  you  had  heard  what  Mr.  Strachan  said  just 
now  about  your  being  out  of  the  way  when  you  were 
wanted,"  said  she,  "you  might  hurry  a  little.  You've 
got  a  delightful  post,  Miss  Garth — don't  you  want 
to  keep  it?" 

Charis,  who  had  stooped  to  tie  a  shoelace,  and 
also  partly  to  hide  a  smile,  raised  her  face,  devoid 
of  expression,  and  stared  steadily  at  Phyllis's  brick- 
red  countenance.  "I  beg  your  pardon?"  said  she, 
as  though  she  had  not  heard. 

Meeting  her  calm  eyes,  Phyllis  simply  dared  not 
repeat  her  impertinence.  She  grew  still  more  scarlet 
and  tossed  her  head. 

"Gilbert,"  said  she,  "you  must  come  at  once — it 
is  so  ill-bred  to  make  people  wait  for  you." 

"Ah,  you're  an  authority  on  breeding,  aren't 
you?"  was  his  ironic  answer  as  he  placed  the  cap 
upon  the  camera  and  put  his  watch  back  in  his 
pocket. 

Phyllis  snorted  and  flounced  away,  enraged. 
Charis,  watching  her,  felt  sure  that  the  girl  had 
something  on  her  mind. 

When  the  camera  was  packed  up  Gilbert  and  she 
went  their  unhurried  way  towards  the  gate,  reach- 
ing it  before  the  rest  of  the  party  who  were  leisurely 
making  the  tour  of  the  walls.  Charis  saw  Gilbert 
go  up  to  Major  Doran  and  talk  to  him  for  a  minute 


128       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

or  two.  Then  she  saw  the  Major  approach  Phyllis 
and  evidently  press  her  to  come  and  sit  by  him  in 
his  car.  He  drove  himself,  Strachan's  man  having 
undertaken  the  cleaning  of  both  cars,  and  the  Major 
taking  the  chance  to  give  his  own  chauffeur  a  holi- 
day. 

In  the  other  car,  by  universal  insistence,  Strachan 
sat  in  the  best  place  in  the  tonneau  facing  forwards. 
Hitherto  Phyllis  had  usurped  the  place  beside  him 
as  if  it  were  her  right.  She  was  evidently  flattered, 
however,  at  Doran's  invitation,  and  presently  ran 
up  to  her  cousin  and  cried  that  she  was  torn  two 
ways — Major  Doran  said  they  were  going  up  to 
Reeth,  the  loveliest  drive  in  England,  and  he  wanted 
to  hear  what  she  said  at  first  sight  of  it.  Would 
Cousin  George  forgive  her  desertion? 

Cousin  George  cheerfully  said  that  he  thought 
it  was  far  better  to  change  partners  than  always 
to  be  seated  the  same  way.  "I  have  no  right  to 
monopolise  you,  my  dear,"  said  he  kindly;  "the 
young  men  should  have  a  chance." 

Phyllis  turned  up  her  eyes  languishingly  to  him. 
"No  young  man  could  have  a  real  chance  where  you 
are  concerned,"  said  she  fatuously  and  not  very  felic- 
itously. Strachan  laughed  outright,  with  his  merry 
eyes  fixed  upon  his  secretary. 

"My  dear,"  said  he  as  soon  as  Phyllis  had  moved 
away,  "I  am  obliged  to  you.  I  will  ask  Mrs.  Varick 
to  sit  in  Phyllis's  place  and  Colonel  Morrison  wants 
to  sit  with  us  and  be  amused.  Vee  has  begged  to 
sit  by  Horn,  as  he  is  teaching  her  to  drire.  But 


Changing  Partners  129 

that  will  leave  you  and  Gil  to  travel  together  behind 
the  Major  and  Phyllis." 

"I  shan't  mind  that,"  said  Charis  quickly;  and 
afterwards  wondered  at  herself  that  this  was  so. 


CHAPTER  XIV 

PHYLLIS   AND    FINANCE 

NEXT  morning,  during  the  half-hour  set  apart 
each  day  for  Mr.  Strachan  to  go  through  his 
letters  with  his  secretary,  he  had  occasion  to  send 
Miss  Garth  down  to  the  sitting-room  of  the  hotel, 
to  search  for  a  Canadian  newspaper  which  he  had 
mislaid.  He  was  a  little  worried  that  morning — it 
seemed  to  him,  judging  from  his  correspondence, 
that  things  were  not  going  as  smoothly  in  Ontario 
as  he  had  hoped  might  be  the  case  in  his  absence. 

His  perturbation  gave  Charis  an  idea.  She 
thought  she  saw  her  way  to  make  a  suggestion  which 
would  be  advantageous  at  the  same  time  to  herself, 
to  Gilbert  Brown,  and  to  Strachan.  She  knew  that 
the  sooner  Gilbert  was  taken  completely  out  of  her 
way,  the  better  for  him.  It  would  be  much  more 
comfortable  for  everybody  if  she  could  prevent 
things  from  coming  to  a  point — if  she  could  head 
off  her  big,  blundering  suitor  without  exposing  him 
to  the  mortification  of  a  refusal.  She  thought  highly 
of  the  young  man's  common  sense,  and  also  of  his 
honesty,  and  was  confident  that  he  could  be  of  great 
use  to  his  cousin  if  Strachan  could  be  brought  to 
see  it. 

Her  mind  was  deeply  occupied  with  this  notion 
130 


Phyllis  and  Finance  131 

as  she  swiftly  and  silently  entered  the  room.  At 
that  time  of  day  the  place  was  fairly  certain  to  be 
empty;  and  she  started,  when,  standing  before  the 
table  which  held  the  papers,  she  heard  from  behind 
her  the  sound  of  a  smothered  but  unmistakable  sob. 

Facing  round,  she  saw  Phyllis  seated  in  a  corner, 
behind  a  curtain,  at  a  small  writing-table.  She  was 
crouched  together  with  her  handkerchief  to  her 
eyes;  and  as  she  approached,  Charis  saw  that  a  sheet 
of  the  hotel  paper  lay  before  her,  and  a  letter  which 
seemed  to  be  the  one  her  mother  had  sent  on  to 
her  the  previous  day. 

Charis  was  confirmed  in  her  notion  that  some- 
thing was  wrong  where  this  girl  was  concerned.  All 
the  previous  day  she  had  been  in  a  state  of  unnat- 
ural, almost  hectic  excitement.  During  the  entire 
forenoon,  she  had  flung  herself  openly  and  des- 
perately at  Strachan's  head;  and  in  the  afternoon 
she  had  done  the  same  to  Major  Doran.  Poor 
Phyllis!  She  belonged  to  the  class  of  girl — more 
numerous  than  is  realised — to  whom  any  man  who 
proposes  is  the  right  man.  She  was  not  entirely 
false,  except  in  so  far  that  she  was  self-deceived. 
The  mere  fact  of  a  man's  asking  her  to  marry  him 
would  persuade  her  that  she  adored  him — would, 
in  fact,  probably  be  sufficient  to  make  her  adore  him 
in  a  sort  of  rapture  of  gratitude  for  the  time  being. 
She  had  no  deep  feeling,  but  she  imagined  herself 
to  be  an  extremely  romantic,  emotional  being.  Her 
mistakes  were  laughable,  but  they  were  also  pitiable, 
and  in  Charis  compassion  came  uppermost,  as  she 


132       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

crossed  the  room  and  approached  the  forlorn  figure. 

"Miss  Cranstoun-Brown,  I'm  afraid  you  are  not 
well?" 

Phyllis  started  so  violently  as  to  make  it  apparent 
that  her  abandonment  of  misery,  in  a  public  sitting- 
room,  was  genuine  and  not  calculated.  She  must 
then  be  very  hard  hit. 

"Couldn't  I  get  you  anything?"  suggested  Charis 
diffidently. 

"Certainly  not.  Go  away,"  stammered  the  girl 
resentfully;  but  the  truculence  of  the  rejoinder  was 
washed  out  by  a  rush  of  blinding  tears  and  some 
angry  sobbing.  "My  own  sister  won't  help  me,  so 
is  it  likely  that  you  could?"  she  blurted  out  dolor- 
ously. 

"Then  you  are  in  trouble?  Isn't  there  something 
— anything — one  could  do?" 

"Not  you,  is  it  likely?  If  I  don't  know  where 
to  turn  for  money,  you  don't  suppose  I  should  come 
to  you  for  it,"  was  the  hardly  audible,  though  en- 
venomed answer. 

"Are  you — are  you — in  debt?"  hazarded  Charis, 
expecting  to  be  told  to  leave  the  room  at  once.  But 
the  young  woman,  who,  according  to  her  mother, 
would  make  a  perfect  wife,  was  in  so  abject  a  posi- 
tion that  she  was  ready  to  catch  at  any  straw,  even 
the  sympathy  of  the  girl  she  would  like  to  trample 
upon. 

"You  can't  understand,  of  course,"  she  muttered, 
between  tears,  "what  a  girl  in  my  position  has  to 
meet  in  the  way  of  expenses;  and — and  I've  never 


Phyllis  and  Finance  133 

had  a  proper  dress  allowance  in  my  life!  I  live  in 
a  good  house,  I  have  plenty  of  food,  but  in  reality 
I'm  a  genteel  pauper!  I  can't  go  and  buy  a  pair  of 
shoes  without  dunning  either  my  father  or  my 
mother  for  a  pound  to  pay  for  them.  Well !  You 
can  guess  what  happens.  Of  course  I  go  on  tick. 
It — it  was  just  my  bad  luck  that  I  had  run  up  a 
long  score  at  one  of  the  shops — these  beasts,  Hardy 
and  Trip— in  Streatwood  High  Street,  just  at  the 
time  that  Cousin  George  suggested  this  tour.  Then 
there  were  all  kinds  of  things  I  had  to  have — long 
coat,  motor-veils,  hats,  gloves,  smart  shoes!  One 
can't  go  about  a  fright,  and  Ma  gave  me  about 
enough  to  buy  one  cheap  frock!  She  thinks  girls 
should  go  in  for  simple  white  muslin !  Ugh !  You 
know  what  a  price  things  are,  since  the  war.  I  only 
ordered  what  I  simply.had  to  have;  and  now,  though 
the  whole  bill  isn't  much  over  twenty  pounds,  they 
threaten  to  apply  to  Mother  unless  I  pay  at 
once.  .  .  ." 

"Well — but  wouldn't  that  be  the  best  way?" 

"You  don't  know — what — Ma — is!  Nobody  ex- 
cept those  who  have  to  live  with  her  know  what  Ma 
is!  I  tell  you  I  often  think  I'd  marry  a  road- 
sweeper,  just  to  get  away  from  her  tyranny  and  her 
tongue !  If — if  she  knew  I'd  run  up  a  bill  like  this, 
I  don't  know  what  she'd  do!" 

"But — but  what  made  you — how  did  you  ever 
think  you  were  going  to  pay  it?"  demanded  Charis 
curiously. 

"Why,   of  course — I   should  have   thought  you 


134       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

could  see — I  should  have  thought  everybody  would 
see,  that  it's  only  a  question  of  time — Cousin 
George." 

"You  think  you  could  ask  him  to  pay  your 
debts?" 

"Of  course  I  could,  if — if Oh,  you  needn't 

look  so  bewildered!  You  must  have  seen  it  from 
the  first — from  the  way  he  looked  at  me  when  he 
walked  into  our  drawing-room.  I  had  on  a  really 
pretty  frock,  and  shoes  and  stockings  to  match — 
and  I  had  had  my  hair  marcel-waved  and  shampooed 
— that  blued  all  the  money  Ma  doled  out  for  silk 
stockings !  But  you  see  it  answered — men  like  some- 
thing showy" — Phyllis  suddenly  came  to  a  choking 
pause  in  this  remarkable  piece  of  self-revelation. 
"Ugh!"  cried  she  furiously,  "if  it  hadn't  been  for 
you,  I  should  be  engaged  to  him  by  now!" 

Remembering  her  own  complicity  in  the  shifting 
of  Phyllis's  place  in  the  car  the  previous  day  Charis 
coloured  hotly.  "Miss  Cranstoun-Brown,  what  can 
you  mean?" 

The  tone  was  so  studiously  gentle  and  gravely 
reproachful  that,  for  a  wonder,  Phyllis,  vain  and 
stupid  though  she  was,  caught  a  part  of  its  signifi- 
cance. "Oh,"  she  groaned,  "I  hardly  know  what 
I'm  saying.  All  I  know  is  that  I  daren't  go  to  Gil, 
and  that  Vee  won't  help  with  a  penny  .  .  .  and  if 
I  can't  send  this  money,  I'm  in  a  worse  hole  than 
ever  I  was  in  my  life !  But  why  on  earth  am  I  tell- 
ing you  all  this?  Of  course,  you'd  be  delighted  if 
Ma  was  to  write  and  order  me  straight  home  1" 


Phyllis  and  Finance  135 

"I  wonder  why  you  think  so  ?  Have  I  ever  made 
myself  objectionable  to  you?"  asked  Charis  quietly. 
"I  have  often  wondered  why  you  should  feel  hostile 
to  me.  I  know  you  despise  me  for  having  to  earn 
my  living — but  at  least  that  keeps  me  from  such  diffi- 
culties as  yours  of  this  moment.  However,  I  am 
very  sorry  for  your  trouble,  and  I  will  help  you  if 
you  allow  me.  Mr.  Strachan  has  lately  paid  my 
salary,  and  I  can  lend  you  the  money  to  pay  this  bill 
— I  will  lend  it — on  certain  conditions." 

"Conditions?"  Between  her  consuming  anxiety 
for  relief  and  her  humiliation  that  it  should  come 
from  such  a  quarter,  the  sufferer  almost  choked. 

"You  must  understand  that  it  is  a  loan,  and  that 
it  must  be  repaid  the  first  moment  you  are  able.  I 
mean,  when  you  get  some  money,  you  must  pay  me 
back  before  contracting  any  fresh  debts.  Do  you 
agree  to  that?" 

The  tears  began  to  flow  afresh.  "I'm  not  likely 
to  get  any  more  money  for  ever  so  long — un- 
less  " 

"Well,  I'll  risk  that.     I  am  going  to  trust  you." 

The  purplish,  mottled  face  was  lifted  to  see  if 
this  incredible  offer  were  genuine.  "You'll  lend  me 
— twenty-three  pounds?" 

"Yes.  I  happen  to  have  it  on  me.  Not  a  very 
usual  occurrence,  as  you  may  guess." 

Charis  took  out  her  purse,  extracted  thence  four 
five-pound  notes,  and  three  one-pound  treasury 
notes,  and  pushed  them  across  the  table.  There  was 
a  momentary  hesitation,  but  it  was  soon  over.  With 


136       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

a  long  breath  of  almost  suffocating  gratitude  the 
notes  were  accepted,  amid  muttered  thanks,  and 
something  which  almost  sounded  like  an  apology. 

Charis  caught — "been  mistaken  in  you — shall  al- 
ways look  upon  you  as  a  friend — perhaps  I  shall  pay 
this  back  sooner  than  you  think.  .  .  ." 

She  cut  short  the  confused  utterance.  "I  must 
run,  or  I  shall  have  Mr.  Strachan  asking  where  I 
have  been  wasting  my  time." 

Phyllis's  face  was  suddenly  drained  of  all  colour. 
"Oh !  You  wouldn't  tell  him  ?" 

Charis  met  her  eyes.  "No,  I  will  not  tell  him — 
so  long  as  you  observe  my  conditions ;  and  remember 
that  you  are  in  honour  pledged  to  repay  me  as  soon 
as  you  can." 

Waiting  for  no  more  gratitude,  she  ran  swiftly 
from  the  room.  Phyllis  sat  staring  at  the  wad  of 
notes  before  her,  and  her  face  began  to  regain  some 
of  its  wonted  assurance. 

She  ran  her  eyes  over  the  bill.  Some  of  the  items 
were  eighteen  months  old.  Her  expression  became 
absorbed — eager.  She  lifted  her  eyes  to  make  sure 
that  Miss  Garth  had  gone  right  out  of  the  room, 
and  that  she  was  alone.  Then  she  took  up  her  pen 
and  began  to  write. 

"DEAR  SIR, — I  am  now  enclosing  fifteen  pounds 
on  account  of  your  bill,  trusting  that  you  will  wait  a 
few  weeks  for  the  balance.  In  that  time  I  shall  be 
back  in  town,  and  I  expect  that  I  shall  be  giving  a 
very  large  order. 


Phyllis  and  Finance  137 

"In  acknowledging  receipt  of  enclosed  money 
(£15)  please  address  not  to  Redmays,  but  to  Frat- 
ton  Beck  Hotel,  Estondale." 


Charis  brought  the  required  paper  to  Strachan, 
and  the  remainder  of  their  morning's  work  was 
quickly  settled. 

"And  now,"  said  she,  "if  you  will  give  me  ten 
minutes,  I  have  somewhat  to  say  unto  thee,  O  Arbiter 
of  Destiny." 

"Arbiter  of  Destiny !  I  like  that  title  better  than 
Good  Samaritan.  It  tickles  me,  some.  Say  on, 
young  woman." 

"I  want  you  to  do  two  things  for  me." 
"I  think  it's  unlikely  I  shall  refuse." 
"Ah,  wait — till  you  hear  the  second.  The  first  I 
am  fairly  sure  you  will  like  to  do.  I  have  a  particu- 
lar reason  for  suggesting  it.  I  wonder  if  you  know 
that  your  two  young  cousins,  the  Brown  girls,  are 
in  a  state  of  chronic  hard-upness?  In  England,  peo- 
ple don't  consider  their  daughters'  purses — even 
now,  after  the  war  and  everything,  the  English  mid- 
dle-class girl  at  home  has  no  money  unless  she  earns 
it.  Vee  does  earn  some,  but  not  much.  It  may 
sound  to  you  odd  that  on  a  trip  like  this,  where  you 
pay  for  all,  these  girls  should  be  short  of  cash;  but 
they  are ;  and  you  understand — going  from  one  town 
to  another — they  would  like  to  buy  things  to  take 
home,  and  so  on.  ...  So,  after  this  lengthy  pre- 
amble, what  I  want  you  to  do  is  to  give  each  of  them 


138       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

fifty  pounds,  and  say  it  is  for  them  to  spend  as  they 
like  best — not  to  save  up  and  invest." 

"It's  an  excellent  idea,  and  shall  be  carried  out, 
Mademoiselle." 

"Don't  do  it  to-day,  nor  to-morrow.  In  a  few 
days  we  visit  Carlisle,  don't  we?  That  will  be  an 
excuse — the  shops  there — I  don't  want  them  to 
think  that  I  put  you  up  to  it.  And — oh,  yes;  one 
other  thing,  this  important — give  it  to  them  both 
at  the  same  time — have  them  both  in  the  room  to- 
gether. Don't  let  either  think  she  is  preferred  to 
the  other." 

He  smiled  with  comprehension.  "Agreed  again. 
And  now?" 

"Now  I  come  to  the  important  thing.  I  want 
you  to  offer  to  take  Gilbert  Brown  into  your  busi- 
ness in  Ontario,  and  to  dispatch  him  off  there  at 
once." 

He  showed  his  surprise  at  this  by  a  long  silence 
and  a  searching  look.  "So-o-o!  That  is  a  tall 
order.  Do  you  want  to  be  rid  of  the  young  man, 
at  my  expense?" 

She  would  have  liked  to  conceal  her  deep  blush, 
but  found  it  impossible.  "I  am  thinking  of  both 
you  and  him,"  she  maintained.  "You  want  me  to 
give  you  the  result  of  my  observations.  One  of  the 
things  I  have  found  out  is,  as  I  told  you  the  other 
day,  that  that  young  man  is  spoiling  for  an  object 
in  life.  Give  him  some  real  important  work,  I  don't 
mind  guaranteeing  that  he  will  do  it  well.  I  ordered 
you  to  have  a  heart-to-heart  talk  with  him,  and  you 


Phyllis  and  Finance  139 

haven't  done  as  I  told  you,  which  is  very  refractory 
of  you.  Do  it  now.  Talk  to  him  without  delay.  I 
believe  with  all  my  heart  that  he  is  the  man  you 
want,  and  that  you  are  the  man  he  wants." 

"Alas,  my  dear,  I  fear  greatly — that  you  are  the 
woman  he  wants,  and,  of  course,  I  know  he  is  not 
the  man  you  want." 

Charis  faced  him  with  eyes  full  of  regrets.  "I — I 
fear  you  may  be  right.  I  want  you  to  know  that  I 
couldn't  help  it.  I  haven't  consciously  done  any- 
thing .  .  .  but  as  you  say,  of  course,  he  is  not  the 
man  I  want  .  .  .  and  it  would  be  better  for  him  to 
go  right  away,  to  fresh  surroundings  and  fresh  in- 
terests. Oh,  dear,  this  sounds  dreadful.  Indeed, 
I  am  not  asking  you  to  employ  him  just  because  I 
want  to  be  rid  of  him.  Oh,  do  believe  it  isn't  that. 
I  hoped  you  had  not  seen  .  .  .  but  you  are  so 
abominably  penetrating.  Ah,  don't  look  at  me  like 
that!" 

"Abominably  penetrating,  am  I?"  he  echoed  with 
a  queer  intonation.  "Well,  I  believe  I  am  more  or 
less  clear-sighted — where  I  love." 

She  gave  him  what  he  inly  termed  her  golden 
smile.  "I  never  met  a  man  like  you,"  she  murmured 
gratefully.  "I  don't  believe  you  could  ever  possibly 
misunderstand." 

"Sometimes  I  wish  I  could,"  said  George  Strachan 
enigmatically. 


CHAPTER  XV 

A   NEAR   SHAVE 

IT  had  been  decided  that,  in  order  to  fill  in  the 
time  which  must  elapse  before  they  could  be  re- 
ceived at  the  Fratton  Beck  Hotel,  the  party  should 
make  a  few  days'  tour  in  Lakeland.  Strachan  had 
a  confidential  talk  with  his  secretary  and  succeeded 
in  ascertaining  exactly  which  bit  of  country  she  would 
wish  to  avoid,  and  having  arranged  his  itinerary 
accordingly,  they  finally  left  Barnard  Castle  one 
sunshiny  morning  and  passed  over  Stainmore,  by 
way  of  Brough  and  Appleby,  to  Pooley  Bridge  and 
thence  along  the  Helvellyn  side  of  Ullswater  to 
Patterdale.  Here  they  lunched  and  set  out,  about 
three  o'clock  in  the  afternoon,  to  cross  the  Kirk- 
stone  Pass  to  Ambleside. 

Charis  had  not  found  leisure  for  a  word  with 
Gilbert  Brown  that  day,  but  she  knew  he  had  had 
a  long  talk  with  his  cousin  the  previous  night.  She 
was  anxious  to  know  if  anything  had  been  arranged, 
and  she  felt  he  was  equally  anxious  to  tell  her  some- 
thing. All  the  morning  they  had  travelled  in  sepa- 
rate cars,  he  being  with  Mrs.  Varick,  while  Miss 
Garth  most  unwillingly  played  number  three  with 
Strachan  and  Phyllis.  She  felt  that  an  afternoon 
of  the  same  ordeal  would  be  unbearable,  and  was 

140 


A  Near  Shave  141 

grateful  indeed  to  Major  Doran  when  he  once  more 
came  to  the  rescue  and  claimed  Miss  Cranstoun- 
Brown  as  his  companion  over  the  pass. 

Gilbert  seized  the  chance  thus  offered.  "I  want 
to  talk  to  you,"  said  he  under  his  breath  to  Charis. 
"It's  really  important.  Come  with  me  again  in 
Doran's  car." 

She  hesitated.  "Oh,  but  you  would  like  to  have 
Mrs.  Varick." 

He  smiled  sarcastically.  "Not  she !  Look  at  her, 
making  tracks  for  the  magnet.  If  you  remember,  I 
prophesied  that  we  other  men  should  have  a  thin 
time  if  Strachan  were  here." 

"It  doesn't  seem  quite  fair  that  he  should  be  so 
fascinating  as  well  as  so  rich,  does  it?"  she  admitted. 
"He  is  the  most  compelling  person  I  know.  He 
just  says  Do,  and  you  do  it.  I  wish  he  could  sud- 
denly lose  all  his  fortune — just  to  see  if  he  would 
be  as  magnetic  without  it." 

"Don't  you  go  wishing  such  a  thing  as  that  or 
you  put  a  spoke  in  my  wheel  altogether." 

"Indeed?    How  so?" 

"That's  just  what  I  want  to  explain  if  you  will 
condescend  to  endure  my  company  for  an  hour  or 
so  this  afternoon." 

"What  of  Colonel  Morrison?" 

"He  always  follows  Mrs.  Varick  about — I'm  of 
the  opinion  that  Cousin  George  would  as  soon  be 
without  him.  But,  however,  you  see " 

Charis  glanced  towards  the  car  and  saw  that  both 
Vee  and  Colonel  Morrison  were  taking  their  places, 


142       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

facing  the  others,  in  the  capacious  and  comfortable 
interior  of  Strachan's  car.  They  were  talking 
volubly  and  evidently  quite  content  to  be  together; 
so  there  seemed  really  no  alternative  for  her  unless 
she  left  Gilbert  to  sit  alone  and  installed  herself 
beside  Horn. 

She  gave  in,  therefore,  divided  between  the  sense 
of  insecurity  she  always  felt  in  Gilbert's  company 
and  her  desire  to  hear  what  had  passed  between  him 
and  his  cousin. 

It  was  a  day  to  uplift  the  very  heart  in  gladness 
at  the  surrounding  beauty.  The  tree-covered  slopes 
which  dip  so  sharply  to  the  lake  were  in  the  fresh- 
ness of  June  verdure;  and  thus  early  in  the  season 
the  terrible  chars-a-bancs,  which  ply  in  the  narrow, 
winding  road  and  make  August  travel  a  terror,  were 
not  yet  in  full  blast. 

Gilbert  began  abruptly,  as  they  slipped  smoothly 
along  the  curve  which  heads  Ullswater  and  turns  up 
to  Brothers  Water.  "Here  is  my  news.  Cousin 
George  has  asked  me  if  I  will  go  out  to  Canada 
for  him,  and  I  have  told  him  that  I  will." 

She  turned  to  him  a  face  of  such  radiant  delight 
as  he,  apparently,  had  not  anticipated.  "Oh, 
good!"  cried  she  fervently.  "Good  indeed!" 

Gilbert  swallowed  hard  and  tried  again.  "He 
wants  me  to  go  at  once,  directly,  even  before  the 
end  of  this  tour — he  would  like  me  to  be  off  as  soon 
as  we  obtain  my  father's  sanction." 

He  was  gazing  on  her  so  appealingly  that  she  felt 
embarrassed.  Evidently  he  was  taken  aback  at  her 


A  Near  Shave  143 

unconcealed  pleasure  in  his  imminent  departure.  She 
plunged  on.  "Indeed  I  am  glad — glad  for  you  both. 
I  know  Mr.  Strachan  has  been  uneasy,  and  your 
going  will  set  his  mind  at  rest.  Must  you  wait,  even 
for  Mr.  Brown's  sanction?" 

"As  to  my  father,"  he  said  slowly,  "I  think  I  told 
you  I'm  in  his  office  at  present.  I  don't  for  a  mo- 
ment suppose  he  will  stand  in  my  way,  but  we  must 
just  let  him  know  before  leaving  him  in  the  lurch." 

"Of  course,  how  stupid  of  me.  Well,  I  do  con- 
gratulate you.  This  is  what  you  hoped  would  hap- 
pen, isn't  it? — what  /  hoped  would  happen " 

"That  I  should  go  away?"  He  was  trying  hard 
to  make  his  voice  sound  normal. 

"Well,  you  could  hardly  enter  the  business  at 
Ontario  without  going  away,  could  you?  I  thought 
it  was  your  great  ambition." 

"No  rose  without  a  thorn.  You'll  be  thinking  me 
ungrateful,  but  I  can't  help  reflecting  that  Canada 
is  a  long  way  off." 

"It  is,  of  course.  But,  as  you  say,  there  must 
always  be  some  drawback  to  everything." 

"And,  after  all,  what  does  it  matter?"  he  mur- 
mured bitterly.  "I  am  the  kind  of  person  who  never 
will  be  missed." 

"I  don't  think  you  ought  to  say  such  a  thing  as 
that !  Your  mother,  of  course " 

"Oh,  of  course !"    It  was  almost  a  sneer. 

"Well,"  she  went  on  after  pausing.  "I  own  to 
feeling  a  bit  disappointed.  You  spoke  to  me  %so 
strongly  of  your  dissatisfaction  with  things  as  they 


144       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

were,  I  was  under  the  impression  that  this  was  just 
the  start  you  required." 

"Cymon,  in  fact,  goes  away  to  his  sheepfolds  and 
the  king's  daughter  back  to  her  father's  court." 

It  seemed  to  Charis  that  this  was  the  kind  of  re- 
mark to  which  no  reply  was  possible.  She  made  a 
desperate  effort  to  change  the  conversation. 

"In  our  excitement  over  your  promotion  we 
mustn't  forget  to  admire  the  scenery.  Oh,  do  look! 
There  goes  the  road  right  over  our  heads!  How 
fast  the  cars  rush  down!  Do  you  see  that  one? 
Coming  down  now — towards  us  ?  It  is  lurching  very 
oddly — surely  it's  travelling  too  fast  for  safety! 
Oh,  do  you  think  the  driver  has  lost  control?" 

As  she  spoke  the  car  which  had  been  visible  at 
its  height  above  them  on  the  twisting  road  rounded 
a  corner  in  its  descent  and  plunged  out  of  sight. 
Gilbert,  springing  forward,  put  his  head  round  the 
corner  of  the  wind-screen,  and  shouted  to  Doran : 

"Look  out!  Car  just  round  the  bend  coming 
down  much  too  fast." 

The  Major  at  once  slowed  down,  steering  in  close 
against  the  side  of  the  road,  and  at  the  same  instant 
the  disabled  car  came  lurching  round  the  bend  above 
them,  with  the  passengers  huddled  together,  evi- 
dently sensible  of  their  danger,  and  the  driver  white 
as  ashes,  his  face  set  grim  and  tense. 

In  the  moment  which  elapsed  between  its  coming 
into  sight  and  the  inevitable  collision  there  was  no 
time  to  jump,  neither  was  jumping  possible,  since 


A  Near  Shave  145 

Doran's  car  was  pushed  in  close  against  the  moun- 
tain side. 

Charis  felt  herself  snatched  up  bodily,  so  that 
her  feet  might  not  be  pinned  between  the  seats,  and 
knew  that  Gilbert's  sturdy  frame  and  muscular  arms 
were  interposed  between  herself  and  the  shock  of  the 
coming  crash. 

The  jarring  thud  of  impact  was  intermingled  with 
the  shrill  yelps  and  squeals  of  feminine  tourists,  and 
the  running  tinkle  of  shattered  glass.  Something 
heavy  fell  into  the  tonneau,  striking  Gilbert  on  the 
back;  but  nothing  touched  Charis  except  his  arms. 
The  car  remained  upright,  the  collision  driving  its 
back  wheels  into  the  hillside  bank,  but  not  overturn- 
ing it.  All  the  air  seemed  full  of  sound  and  strug- 
gling; and  for  a  few  bewildering  seconds,  Miss 
Garth's  heart  stood  still. 

She  then  heard  Gilbert's  voice,  close  to  her  ear. 

"Are  you  all  right?"  it  asked  in  a  forced,  unnat- 
ural way. 

"Yes  —  perfectly  —  please  .  .  .  please  let  me 
go " 

"Of  course.  But  I  must  move  with  care.  There 
is  at  least  one  body  on  top  of  me,  if  not  more." 

"O-oh!" 

"Don't  get  rattled.  I  think  and  hope  they  fell 
pretty  soft." 

His  reluctant  arms  slowly  withdrew  their  hold. 
"Don't  move  till  I  tell  you,"  said  he,  twisting  him- 
self sideways,  so  as  not  too  violently  to  dislodge  the 
elderly  female  who  was  spread-eagled  upon  his  back. 


146       The  Judgment  of  Chans 

As  he  carefully  and  with  some  pain  disengaged  him- 
self, he  emitted  a  curious  sound;  and  Charis,  breath- 
ing hard  and  trembling  murmured:  "Oh,  Mr. 
Brown,  are  you  laughing?" 

"I'm  most  awfully  sorry  .  .  .  but  somehow  it 
does  seem  funny.  I  fancy  the  dear  creature  has 
fainted  from  shock.  Now  if  I  hold  her  up,  can  you 
creep  from  under?  Mind  the  broken  glass;  they've 
shattered  our  wind-screen." 

Charis  sidled  sideways,  and  Gilbert,  by  an  adroit 
manoeuvre,  deposited  the  limp  lady  beside  her  on 
the  seat  of  the  car,  and  rose  to  his  feet. 

"Anybody  hurt?"  he  called. 

George  Strachan,  pale  with  apprehension,  was 
hurrying  up  the  road  from  the  point  where  his  own 
car  had  been  stopped.  He  surveyed,  with  a  horrified 
air,  the  heap  of  people  and  vehicles  blocking  the 
highway. 

"Where's  my  little  girl?"  he  demanded  of  Gil- 
bert, in  hoarse  peremptory  tones. 

Gilbert  without  a  word  turned  to  Charis,  stooped, 
lifted  her  bodily,  and  handed  her  out  over  the  back 
of  the  car  to  his  cousin,  who  received  her  with  a 
choked  "Thank  God!" 

"Why,  dear  man,  I'm  as  right  as  rain,"  cried 
Charis,  struggling  to  her  feet  and  taking  Strachan's 
hands  in  hers.  "Cheer  up !  The  folks  in  the  other 
car  have  got  the  worst  of  it." 

"All  that  broken  glass,"  he  muttered,  his  colour 
beginning  very  gradually  to  return.  "Child,  if  any- 
thing had  happened  to  you,  I  would  have  decided 


A  Near  Shave  147 

once  for  all  that  I'm  a  Jonah,  and  that,  as  soon  as 
anything  becomes  dear  to  me,  that  something  is 
doomed." 

"Oh,  rubbish,"  she  answered  playfully,  patting 
his  hand  to  reassure  him.  "You  are  never  going  to 
have  those  morbid  fancies  any  more — you  know  you 
promised  me!" 

She  was  smiling  up  into  his  face,  thinking  only  of 
his  anxiety,  desirous  only  to  calm  it.  But  to  him, 
the  revulsion  of  relief  craved  expression,  and  he  bent 
down  and  kissed  her  forehead,  repeating  softly  his 
"Thank  God!  Thank  God!" 

"How  lovely  of  you  to  care  so  much,"  said  the 
girl  impulsively;  and  a  thrill  of  joy  passed  through 
her  as  she  felt  the  vibration  of  the  arm  he  passed 
about  her  shoulders. 

"If  you  have,  or  can  beg,  borrow  or  steal  any 
brandy,  Cousin  George" — Gilbert  spoke  from  within 
the  car,  where  he  was  trying  to  restore  the  elderly 
female  to  consciousness. 

Even  as  he  spoke,  Doran  turned  from  his  seat, 
where  he  had  been  bending  over  Phyllis,  and  spoke 
through  the  ruins  of  the  wind-screen.  "Yes,  for 
pity's  sake  get  some  brandy,"  said  he;  "send  your 
car  down  to  the  Brothers  Water  Inn,  and  ask  them 
for  some  rags  and  so  on.  If  all  the  men  get  to- 
gether, I  think  they  can  pull  this  car  off  us.  There's 
a  child  down  there  among  the  wheels." 

Strachan,  smitten  with  the  thought  of  his  own 
selfishness,  became  at  once  the  man  of  resource  and 
action.  He  hurried  off  to  execute  Doran's  requests. 


148       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

Neither  of  the  cars  had  been  overturned.  The 
one  which  had  caused  the  accident  was  a  privately 
owned  char-a-banc,  not  very  large  as  such  vehicles 
go,  but  holding  a  dozen  passengers.  It  was  care- 
fully driven,  and,  had  the  road  been  a  little  wider, 
the  catastrophe  might  have  been  averted.  The 
trouble  was  that,  by  one  of  those  detestable  coinci- 
dences which  occur  perhaps  once  in  a  lifetime,  two 
of  the  tyres  had  punctured  at  the  same  time,  so  that 
it  was  impossible  to  control  the  steering.  The  driver 
had  done  all  he  could  by  shutting  off  the  engine; 
but  the  weight  of  the  car  and  the  terrible  steepness 
of  the  hill  made  disaster  inevitable. 

The  shock  had  sent  three  of  the  passengers  flying 
over  the  front;  the  lady  who  had  landed  upon  Gil- 
bert, the  child  who  had  fallen  into  the  road,  and  an 
elderly  gentleman,  who  was  seriously  hurt.  The 
remainder  retained  their  places,  and  a  youngish  lady, 
sitting  on  the  side  nearest  Major  Doran's  car,  was 
watching  with  the  keenest  attention  Strachan's 
greeting  of  Charis,  and  his  thankfulness  for  her 
safety. 

"Why,  surely,  don't  I  know  that  girl?"  said  she 
reflectively  to  her  mother,  who  sat  beside  her. 
"Surely  that's  Lord  Ringland's  daughter,  Charis 
Osbourne,  isn't  it?" 

Her  mother  merely  moaned  for  answer;  and, 
after  trying  eau-de-Cologne  in  vain,  the  daughter 
rose,  succeeded  in  making  her  way  out  of  the  vehicle 
on  the  other  side,  and  went  on  a  pilgrimage  for 
brandy. 


A  Near  Shave  149 

By  this  time  a  crowd  was  collecting.  Messengers 
had  been  sent  up  and  down  the  pass  to  warn  on-com- 
ing traffic;  and  almost  all  the  travellers  in  the  ap- 
proaching carriages  were  alighting  and  hurrying  to 
the  scene  of  the  accident. 

With  the  help  of  so  many  volunteers,  the  inter- 
locked cars  were  drawn  clear  of  one  another. 
Major  Doran's  had  suffered  considerably.  The 
wind-screen  was  a  wreck,  the  metal  part  of  the  bon- 
net crushed  and  battered,  and  the  off  front  wheel 
was  badly  bent.  There  was,  however,  no  injury  to 
the  engine,  and  an  inquiry  was  instituted  with  a  view 
to  seeing  whether  she  could  be  driven  back  as  far  as 
Patterdale. 

All  the  men  were  absorbed  in  these  matters,  and 
the  ladies  forgathered  by  the  roadside,  clean  hand- 
kerchiefs and  restoratives  being  eagerly  offered. 
Phyllis  had  been  cut  on  the  arm  by  a  big  splinter  of 
glass,  having  wisely  raised  both  arms  to  screen  her 
face.  It  was  a  long  cut,  which  bled  a  good  deal, 
and  her  party  impatiently  awaited  the  return  of  their 
other  car  from  the  Brothers  Water  Inn — which  was 
but  a  very  little  way  down — in  order  to  have  her 
driven  as  fast  as  possible  to  a  doctor. 

Poor  Phyllis!  She  was  divided  in  her  mind 
between  self-pity  and  exultation  in  the  injury  which 
was  making  her  the  centre  of  attraction.  The 
copious  tears  she  was  shedding  were  the  result  not 
of  the  pain  she  was  suffering,  but  of  the  fact  that 
Strachan  was  at  the  moment  too  much  absorbed  in 
the  accident  and  its  results  to  pay  any  attention  to 


150       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

her.  Surely  no  results  could  be  so  serious  to  him  as 
her  own  cuts  and  bruises !  There  was  that  demure 
Miss  Garth  with  literally  not  a  scratch !  It  was  very 
unfair!  Why  had  she  been  silly  enough  to  give  up 
her  own  safe  seat  beside  dear  Cousin  George  for  the 
glittering  peril  of  the  other  car? 

A  youngish  woman  in  a  long  motoring-coat 
strolled  slowly  past  the  group.  She  stopped,  looked 
searchingly  at  Miss  Garth,  and  stood  there  for  a 
long  moment,  hesitating.  At  last  she  made  up  her 
mind  and  spoke. 

"Surely  I  am  not  mistaken.  Isn't  that  Miss  Os- 
bourne?" 

They  all  looked  up,  but  nobody  answered.  "I 
mean  you,"  said  she  uncertainly,  indicating  Charis. 
"I  am  young  Mrs.  Hunter,  the  doctor's  wife  at 
Ringland." 

"You  are  making  a  mistake.  My  name  is  Garth," 
said  Charis  quietly. 

"I'm  sure  I  beg  your  pardon.  I  don't  know  Miss 
Osbourne  very  well,  but  the  likeness  is  remarkable," 
said  young  Mrs.  Hunter,  turning  away  apologetic- 
ally. 

Sheila  Varick  was  conscious  of  a  small  shock. 
She  remembered  Colonel  Morrison  and  the  initial 
O  upon  a  handkerchief  belonging  to  Miss  Garth. 
She  looked  at  Charis's  composed  face,  as  she  bowed 
a  gracious  acceptance  of  the  other  lady's  apology. 
If  she  really  were  playing  a  part,  she  was  a  good 
actress!  What,  exactly,  had  Morrison  said?  That 


A  Near  Shave  151 

the  girl  was  not  concealing  anything  discreditable — 
"rather  the  reverse." 

Sheila  was  not  a  mischief-maker,  but  she  thought 
she  would  tell  the  Colonel,  when  she  had  him  to 
herself,  of  this  curious  recognition. 


CHAPTER  XVI 

GILBERT  COMMITS  HIMSELF 

IN  the  end  it  was  found  possible  to  coax  the  dam- 
aged car  back  as  far  as  the  Ullswater  Hotel. 
There  it  was  placed  on  the  pit  and  overhauled,  the 
verdict  being  that  it  would  take  a  week  to  repair. 

Fortunately  there  was  room  in  the  hotel  for  the 
whole  party;  and  as  Phyllis  seemed  to  have  been 
severely  shaken,  it  was  decided  that  they  should 
remain  where  they  were  and  make  short  excursions 
each  day,  while  she  recuperated. 

Strachan,  when  he  realised  that  she  was  really 
hurt  and  that  he  had  not  so  much  as  wondered 
whether  this  was  so  or  not,  was  filled  with  remorse, 
and  bestowed  upon  her  the  tenderest  care.  This  was 
quite  to  her  taste ;  though,  when  he  suggested  a  wire 
to  her  mother  to  come  with  all  speed,  she  hastily 
negatived  the  proposal.  Mamma  was  a  bad  trav- 
eller, and  if  Cousin  George  telegraphed,  she  would 
think  matters  were  serious.  A  cut  was  really 
nothing  at  all — as  soon  as  the  doctor  had  sewn  it 
up  she  would  be  all  right.  She  was  the  heroine  of 
the  occasion,  the  centre  of  the  picture;  for  the  con- 
cern of  Strachan  was  reinforced  by  that  of  Major 
Doran,  who,  though  not  in  the  least  responsible  for 
the  accident,  felt  vaguely  that  he  ought  not  to  have 

152 


Gilbert  Commits  Himself       153 

allowed  any  lady  under  his  care  to  sustain  injury. 
Soothed  and  flattered  beyond  measure,  the  invalid 
went  to  bed  reluctantly,  quitting  with  regret  the  cir- 
cle of  commiserating  faces,  but  consoled  by  the  ar- 
rival of  a  smart  and  sympathetic  doctor  from  Kes- 
wick,  summoned  by  telephone  to  her  assistance. 

Charis  was  herself  feeling  more  upset  than  she 
could  at  all  account  for.  Being  rather  indignantly 
determined  not  to  yield  to  such  nonsensical  nervous 
excitement,  she  found  Strachan's  attache-case,  and 
went  to  calm  herself  down  with  an  hour's  work  in 
the  writing-room,  which  was  fortunately  deserted. 

Ignoring  the  headache  which  would  have  made 
a  couple  of  hours  upon  her  bed  a  more  sensible 
course,  she  set  herself  doggedly  to  the  transcription 
of  various  letters,  advising  heads  of  departments 
that  Mr.  Strachan  contemplated  sending  out  his 
cousin  forthwith  to  represent  him. 

By  degrees  her  pen  moved  slowly  and  more  slow. 
At  last  she  laid  it  down.  Her  mind  would  hold  only 
the  annoying  memory  of  that  supreme  moment  when 
she  was  swept  up  into  Gilbert  Brown's  capacious 
hold. 

Gilbert  Brown!  For  pity's  sake !  Gilbert  Brown 
and  Charis  Osbourne?  .  .  . 

She  knew  that  she  was  turning  scarlet;  and  she 
felt  hot  all  over  at  the  thought  of  her  father  being 
introduced  to  Mrs.  Cranstoun-Brown.  These  are 
days  of  levelling,  but  her  imagination  refused  to 
reach  the  point  of  picturing  such  a  situation. 

If  only  Gil's  departure  could  be  hurried !    If  only 


154       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

Strachan  could  succeed  in  packing  him  off  before  it 
was  too  late.  .  .  . 

.  .  .  And  then  the  door  opened  quietly,  and  she 
knew  it  was  already  too  late. 

Gilbert  Cranstoun-Brown — and  the  "Cranstoun" 
seemed  to  give  the  final  touch  of  absurdity — stood 
just  within  the  door.  The  natural  colour  had  not 
yet  returned  to  his  rugged  face,  which  still  seemed 
unusually  pale.  His  eyes  were  burning  in  his  head, 
and  Charis  knew  that  the  scene  she  would  so  gladly 
have  avoided  had  got  to  be ! 

He  came  up  to  her  with  much  the  mien  of  a  man 
going  to  execution.  "I  want  to  speak  to  you.  Will 
you  come  out  into  the  garden?"  he  said. 

"I'm  very  busy,"  she  mumbled,  with  an  apolo- 
getic glance  at  her  work.  "Won't  this  room  do? 
There  is  nobody  here  but  ourselves." 

"But  we  may  be  interrupted  any  moment " 

"Oh,  but  I  hoge  you  are  not  going  to  demand  a 
long  interview,  because  I  must  finish  these  letters 
.  .  .  and  I  do  fervently  trust  you  are  not  going  to 
tell  me  that  you  mean  to  decline  your  cousin's  offer? 
You  seemed  dreadfully  half-hearted  about  it  this 
morning." 

He  sat  down  at  right  angles  to  her,  just  round  the 
corner  of  the  table,  upon  which  he  leaned  his  arms. 
His  face,  in  all  its  rough-cut  strength,  was  very  near 
hers. 

"You  know  what  I  must  say.  After  this  after- 
noon— after  that — moment — I  have  simply  got  to 
say  it.  And  how  can  I  express  it?  To  say  'I  love 


Gilbert  Commits  Himself       155 

you'  falls  so  ludicrously  short  of  the  truth."  Chans 
got  to  her  feet,  furious  to  find  herself  trembling. 

"Please  !  Please  don't  go  on !  It's  no  use,  I  can't 
listen.  Won't  you — can't  you  leave  it  unsaid?" 

He  looked  up  at  her.  For  a  long  moment  they 
faced  each  other,  eye  to  eye.  "Is  that  it?"  he  de- 
manded slowly.  "Am  I  so  low  as  all  that?  So  pre- 
posterously out  of  the  question  that  I  may  not  even 
tell  about  this — this  fire  that  you  have  kindled?" 

Something  in  the  force  of  his  expression  and  of 
his  utterance  made  her  feel  mean  and  small;  she  felt 
as  if  he  were  treading  the  asphodel  meadows,  and 
she  fussing  over  the  counter  of  a  shop.  She  an- 
swered nervously  and  at  random: 

"Ah,  don't  speak  so!  If  it  were  a  question  of 
condescension — welll  The  condescending  is  hardly 
on  your  side,  is  it?  Ask  your  mother  and  sisters 
what  they  think.  You  know  how  grieved,  how  dis- 
appointed they  would  be.  ...  But  for  other  rea- 
sons it's  impossible,  take  my  word  for  it.  I  can't 
explain  .  .  .  but  there  are  circumstances  which 
make  me  unable  even  to  consider " 

"Sit  down!"  broke  in  Gilbert,  almost  sharply. 
Charis  wavered.  She  dropped  her  lids,  breathed 
quickly,  made  a  movement  as  though  to  collect  her 
papers  and  flee.  Gilbert  laid  his  large,  square  hand 
upon  her  wrist. 

She  sat  down,  listening  to  his  steady  utterance; 
for  it  seemed  his  nervousness  was  gone,  swallowed 
up  by  her  scorn.  "There  isn't  much  need  of  words. 
You  understand  me  well  enough.  The  thing  which 


156       The  Judgment  of  Chans 

is  surprising,  and  presumably  to  you  vexatious,  is 
that  I  also  understand  you.  We  have  tastes  in  com- 
mon. We  are  companions.  I  know  it.  I  have  seen 
you  bored.  But  the  point  is,  that  /  don't  bore  you. 
Far  above  me  though  you  are,  I  believe  I  could  make 
you  happy." 

She  was  quite  confused.  "What  makes  you  talk 
like  this?  It  sounds  ironical  I  Far  above  you — to 
your  cousin's  secretary  1" 

"If  I  didn't  realise  how  far  above  me  you  are,  I 
should  be  an  oaf — an  imbecile.  What  do  I  care 
for  your  circumstances?  I  don't  want  to  know 
whose  daughter  you  are,  when  I  know  you,  yourself ! 
Can't  you  drop  the  conventions,  and  realise  that  I 
am  speaking  to  you  now  simply  as  between  you  and 
me — between  man  and  woman  ?  Answer  truly — are 
you  certain  that  I  mean  nothing  to  you?  That  you 
don't  care  a  bit?" 

Charis  swallowed  once  or  twice  before  she  could 
reply.  Never  before  had  she  felt  this  curious,  abject 
sensation  when  rejecting  a  suitor. 

"It  isn't  true,"  she  murmured  lamely,  "that  you 
mean  nothing  to  me.  I  like  you.  I — I  think  highly 
of  your  character.  But  that  has  really  so  little  to  do 
with  it,  hasn't  it?"  Then,  seeing  the  instinctive 
movement  with  which'  his  hand  went  up  to  hide  the 
quivering  of  his  mouth:  "Oh,  do  believe,"  she 
pleaded,  "that  I  would  have  prevented  this,  if  I 
could!  Think!  Think!  You  are  going  off  soon, 
into  fresh  surroundings,  a  new  life — you  are  going 
to  make  a  fortune,  to  meet  all  sorts  of  charming 


Gilbert  Commits  Himself       157 

girls !  Soon — much  sooner  than  you  think,  you  will 
have  left  this  moment  behind  you!  I  don't  mean 
you  will  forget  it,  but  it  will  cease  to  count — indeed 
it  will." 

He  answered  nothing.  He  propped  up  his  obsti- 
nate chin  upon  his  fists  and  stared  straight  in  front 
of  him. 

"Mr.  Brown,  you  don't  reproach  me?  You  don't 
think  I  have  behaved  as  though " 

He  shook  his  head.  "No,"  he  replied  quietly,  "I 
knew  I  was  riding  for  a  fall.  I  hadn't  a  hope — not 
really.  But  somehow,  when  one  is  in  the  state  in 
which  I  am,  one  believes  anything  may  happen.  The 
skies  may  fall,  the  stars  may  stoop  ...  I  felt  I  had 
to  tell  you  and  I  am  glad  you  know  it.  You  had  to 
know  it.  It — it  wouldn't  have  made  a  ha'porth  of 
difference  if«I  had  waited,  would  it?"  he  added  wist- 
fully. 

She  shook  her  head.    "Oh,  no." 

"I  suppose  there's  another  man?" 

She  started.     "I  don't  think  so." 

"That  means,  there  is.  Of  course,  then,  the  whole 
thing's  hopeless.  I'll  take  myself  out  of  your  sight." 

He  rose  heavily,  but  paused  a  moment  behind  her 
chair.  She  felt  it  vibrate  as  he  gripped  its  back. 
"Remember  that  this  shall  make  no  difference  to  you, 
whatever  it  does  to  me.  I  am  still  your  friend — I 
don't  resent  your  turning  me  down — there  was  no 
reason  why*you  should  do  anything  else.  For  the 
short  remains  of  our  time  together,  I  guarantee  I'll 
behave  myself." 


158       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"Mr.  Brown,  you  are  fine!     I'm  grateful." 

"And  you  won't  avoid  me  ?" 

"Indeed  I  won't !  It  would  be  to  punish  myself, 
because  I  like  you — very  much  .  .  .  you  make  me 
feel  such  a  pig." 

"Oh,  rubbish!  Well!  There  it  is.  But  the 
whole  thing  is  wrong,  somewhere.  That  I  should 
meet  you — that  you  should  inspire  me  with  what  is 
practically  a  new  soul;  and  that  I  must  go  through 
all  my  future  life  unfulfilled,  because  either  you  or  I 
have  made  a  mistake.  .  .  ." 

"There  are  so  many  mistakes  in  this  twisted  uni- 


verse." 


He  turned  to  her  a  face  so  changed  that  she 
hardly  knew  it — as  it  were  purged  by  love  and  suf- 
fering. "In  some  other  world,  is  it  possible  you 
might  know  you  belong  to  me?  I  wonder." 

Upon  the  words  he  walked  out  of  the  room;  and 
Charis  found  herself  left  sick  and  shivering,  and 
more  miserable  than  she  would  have  thought  pos- 
sible, upon  no  greater  occasion  than  just  refusing  the 
hand  of  a  Cranstoun-Brown  I 


CHAPTER  XVII 

LORD  CLEMENT  BUTTS  IN 

THE  doctor  who  had  been  called  in  to  see  Phyllis 
prescribed  bed  for  forty-eight  hours,  on  the 
ground  that  it  is  always  difficult  at  first  to  gauge  the 
extent  of  a  shock  to  the  nervous  system. 

Indeed,  the  whole  party  in  the  damaged  car  had 
been  more  or  less  shaken;  and  Gilbert  more  hurt 
than  he  allowed  anyone  to  suppose.  Thus  his  gloom 
and  Miss  Garth's  depression  seemed  but  natural  to 
the  others,  and  excited  no  special  comment. 

Those  who  had  occupied  Strachan's  car,  however, 
not  having  suffered  in  the  same  way,  were  ready  to 
accept  as  a  merciful  dispensation  any  accident  which 
detained  them  in  the  heart  of  such  loveliness. 

"The  worst  of  motor  trips  is  that  you  get  through 
your  country  too  fast,"  observed  Mrs.  Varick.  Here 
they  were  at  the  very  foot  of  Helvellyn,  and  in  an 
excellent  position  for  attacking  Blencathra  also. 
They  determined  to  make  the  most  of  the  oppor- 
tunity; but  the  weather  unfortunately  was  cloudy 
and  uncertain;  so,  for  the  first  day,  they  had  to  con- 
tent themselves  with  Aira  Force. 

The  following  morning,  however — the  rain  not 
actually  falling,  and  the  landlord  giving  it  as  his 
opinion  that  the  mist  might  clear — they  decided  to 

159 


160       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

assault  the  mountain.  Morrison  was  a  climber,  and 
knew  all  the  routes. 

Charis  had  intended  to  remain  at  home  with 
Phyllis,  who  must  not  be  left  alone,  nor  feel  herself 
neglected.  Thus  she  would  be  spared  the  long  day 
in  Gilbert's,  company;  though  his  behaviour  was  so 
circumspect  and  his  self-control  so  complete  that 
only  Mrs.  Varick,  who  was  observant,  noticed  any- 
thing unusual.  She  remarked  to  Strachan  that  it 
seemed  curious  for  a  big  strong  fellow  like  Gil  to 
be  shocked  by  a  motor  accident. 

Strachan  suggested  that  the  men  who  had  passed 
through  the  inferno  of  the  war  were  many  of  them 
left  with  a  super-sensitised  nervous  system,  which  be- 
came noticeable  only  in  moments  of  stress;  and  she 
accepted  this  as  a  quite  reasonable  explanation.  The 
Idea  that  Gil  was  in  love  with  the  secretary  had  not 
presented  itself  to  her.  She  knew  her  brother  was, 
and  had  little  doubt  that,  if  he  made  up  his  mind 
to  the  sacrifice,  Miss  Garth  would  welcome  so  eligi- 
ble an  offer. 

Fate  took  a  hand  in  the  arrangements  for  the 
mountain  climb,  by  bestowing  upon  Strachan  such  a 
severe  cold  in  the  head  that  a  day's  exposure  was 
manifestly  not  prudent  for  him.  Charis  begged  that 
she  might  stay  with  him,  and  get  through  some  ar- 
rears of  work;  but  he  laughingly  shook  his  head. 

"I'm  in  no  mood  for  work,"  he  said,  "and  there's 
nothing  urgent.  Since  Gilbert  is  going  out,  various 
things  can  wait.  I  will  have  a  good  rest,  and  play 


Lord  Clement  Butts  In         161 

Patience  with  poor  Phyl  when  she  comes  down- 
stairs." 

Thus  it  was  settled,  and  Phyllis,  who  had  been 
inclined  to  sulk  at  the  idea  of  an  expedition  without 
her,  was,  needless  to  say,  entirely  satisfied  with  an 
arrangement  which  she  believed  to  have  been  cun- 
ningly contrived  by  Cousin  George,  in  order  that  he 
might  have  her  exclusive  society. 

Lying  at  her  ease,  in  one  of  the  best  bedrooms  of 
the  hotel,  with  the  comfortable  knowledge  that 
Strachan  was  paying  extra  for  the  dainty  meals 
served  to  her  upstairs,  she  was  tasting  something 
much  more  like  happiness  that  she  had  ever  known. 
She  had  not  seen  Strachan's  terrible  perturbation 
when  he  was  uncertain  of  Miss  Garth's  safety. 

They  assembled  in  the  lounge,  after  an  early 
breakfast,  waiting  to  start  until  their  lunch  packets 
were  brought  to  them.  The  post  arrived  first,  how- 
ever, and  the  waiter  handed  the  letters  to  Mrs. 
Varick,  who  had  an  odd  smile  as  she  passed  to 
Charis  a  letter  with  the  Ringland  postmark. 

"Some  friends  of  yours  close  by,"  said  she. 
"Ringland  is  somewhere  near  Hawes  Water,  isn't 
it?" 

"Yes,"  was  the  tranquil  answer.  "I  know  some 
people  there." 

She  took  the  letter  with  outward  composure,  but 
— as  she  saw  the  handwriting — with  inward  rage. 
So  Clement  was  at  Ringland — and  Clement  knew 
not  merely  her  alias,  but  her  present  address !  That 


162        The  Judgment  of  Chans 

detestable,  gossiping  Mrs.  Hunter,  whom  she  barely 
knew  by  sight,  must  have  told  him! 

She  ran  upstairs,  ostensibly  to  bid  Strachan  good- 
bye, but  in  reality  to  see  what  her  persecutor  had  to 
say.  The  letter  was  very  short;  merely  to  the  effect 
that  he  intended  to  call  at  the  hotel  early  next  morn- 
ing, and  to  "have  it  out  with  her."  "As  your  future 
husband,  I  claim  the  right  to  regulate  your  pro- 
ceedings," wrote  this  benighted  and  ill-advised  young 
man.  "The  Osbournes  do  not  break  troth,  and  you 
and  I  are  betrothed." 

Miss  Garth's  changeful  eyes  grew  steely  and  hard 
as  she  read.  She  drew  a  long  breath.  "Oh,"  she 
murmured,  her  thoughts  adapting  themselves  to 
Strachan's  attractive  slang,  "that  really  has  put  the 
lid  on  1  He  deserves — he  richly  deserves — anything 
I  may  choose  to  do  after  that!  And  so  does  father, 
for  allowing  him  to  be  such  a  cad !" 

She  sat  on  her  bed,  her  mind  seething  with  all 
manner  of  impulses.  She  would  show  him  up !  She 
would  take  revenge  I  In  her  trunk  was  the  bundle  of 
notes  for  her  projected  novel;  a  bundle  to  which, 
night  after  night,  she  added  fresh  material,  hastily 
scribbled.  If,  as  everyone  assured  her,  realism  is 
now  the  desired  note  for  fiction,  she  could  give  the 
picture  of  the  completely  selfish,  completely  inane, 
completely  unreflecting  young  aristocrat. 

So,  in  spite  of  all  warnings,  he  was  actually  com- 
ing the  following  morning,  to  make  trouble  !  .  .  . 

Her  outraged  feeling  was  quick  to  suggest  a  glori- 
ous way  of  routing  him!  What  a  turning  of  the 


Lord  Clement  Butts  In         163 

tables,  if  she  could  calmly  tell  him  that  she  was 
engaged  to  Gilbert  Brown! 

For  a  few  wild  moments  the  tempting  prospect 
danced  before  her.  She  saw  herself  introduced  to 
the  Cranstoun-Brown  parents  as  their  future  daugh- 
ter-in-law. .  .  .  She  pictured  their  reception  of  the 
news.  This  motor  tour,  from  which  the  match- 
making mamma  had  expected  so  much — was  it  to 
yield  nothing  but  the  calamitous  capture  of  their 
only  son  in  the  toils  of  a  typewriting  clerk? 

She  chuckled  and  gurgled  to  herself  as  she  visu- 
alised it  all!  And  Gilbert  was  going  away — right 
away !  The  engagement  need  only  last  until  he  was 
in  Ontario.  .  .  .  Surely  such  priceless  material 
would  be  cheap  at  the  cost  of  a  few  days'  discom- 
f ortable  pretence  ?  She  knew  that  Gil  would  be  the 
shyest,  most  deferential  of  lovers,  easily  kept  at 
arm's  length  ...  he  would  go  off  happy,  the  voy- 
age out  would  be  full  of  rosy  anticipation  of  the 
moment  when  he  could  come  back  to  claim  her — and 
as  soon  as  he  was  definitely  out  of  the  way,  she  could 
confess  that  she  had  mistaken  her  feeling — or,  easier 
still,  she  could  write  and  tell  him  that  the  attitude 
of  his  family  made  the  engagement  impossible. 

She  caught  herself  up  with  a  start,  aghast  at  her 
own  depravity.  To  what  was  she  drifting?  Her 
heart  smote  her.  Was  not  some  of  Clement's  dis- 
approval justified? 

Ever  since  she  first  met  Strachan,  she  had  been 
sailing  under  false  colours.  She  was  the  "chiel 
amang  'em,  takin'  notes" — enjoying  the  snobbishness 


164       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

of  the  Browns — occupying  a  position  which,  had  she 
been  honest,  would  not  have  been  open  to  her. 

She  sighed  impatiently,  feeling  like  a  cockle  boat 
tossing  upon  a  tide  too  strong  for  it — a  tide  which 
was  carrying  it  remorselessly  out  to  sea. 

Seizing  her  fountain  pen,  she  scrawled  a  tele- 
gram: 

"Forbid  you  to  come  here,  await  letter  from  me 
which  follows. — C.  O." 

This  she  thrust  into  her  coat  pocket,  and,  with  a 
glance  at  her  watch,  sprang  to  her  feet  and  hurried 
to  Strachan's  room. 

She  found  him  already  dressed,  and  seated  near  a 
comfortable  fire.  Upon  her  entrance  he  looked  up, 
and  gave  her  the  smile  which  he  kept  for  her  only. 

As  she  encountered  it,  she  knew  that  the  time 
had  come  when  she  must  tell  this  man  the  truth. 

She  felt  humbled  to  the  dust  as  she  came  up  to 
him,  and  felt  the  warm  grasp  of  his  hand  caressing 
her  own. 

"You  know,"  she  faltered,  "I  don't  a  bit  want  to 
go  up  that  mountain  without  you." 

"Oh,  shucks!"  But  he  looked  pleased.  "Away 
you  run!  Youth  and  energy  mustn't  stew  all  day 
in  a  hot  room." 

"Perhaps.     But  I  don't  like  leaving  you." 

"And  I  don't  like  being  parted  from  you — even 
for  a  day." 


Lord  Clement  Butts  In         165 

"Phyllis  will  be  down  soon  to  keep  you  com- 
pany." 

"Poor  lassie!     I'll  do  my  best  to  entertain  her, 

but  I  own  I  find  her  a  bit  heavy  on  hand.     Now 
») 

"Oh,  don't  spoil  me!  I'm  a  horrid,  mean  girl! 
I  have  thoughts  sometimes  that  are  perfectly  devil- 
ish !  I  despise  myself,  and  when  I  come  to  you  to 
confess  my  misdoing,  you'll  despise  me  too!"  She 
wavered  a  moment,  and  then  added  impulsively : 

"Will  you  hear  my  confession  to-night?" 

"Why,  I  guess  I  know  it  already.  You  have  had 
to  turn  down  Gil.  But  that's  his  fault,  not  yours." 

This  was  so  far  from  her  preoccupation  of  the 
moment  that  her  thought  was  flung  into  confusion. 
"You're  uncanny!  How  did  you  know?" 

"Vurry  easily.  He  came  to  me  and  said  he  didn't 
care  if  he  started  for  Ontario  to-morrow.  So  then, 
of  course,  I  knew." 

"Oh,  please — you  don't  think  I'm  to  blame?" 

"I'm  certain  you  are  not.  But  I'm  sorry  for  the 
poor  chap.  He  didn't  make  himself,  and  he  doesn't 
realise  the  gulf  .  .  .  also  I  think  it  likely  that  the 
fact  of  having  known  you  will  leave  him  spoilt  for 
any  other  woman." 

"You  felt  certain  I  would  say  No?"  in  a  very  low 
voice. 

"Certain." 

She  wondered  why  this  should  annoy  her.  "Well, 
you  haven't  heard  him  make  love,"  she  said.  "I 
assure  you  he's  rather — wonderful.  I — I — well,  I 


166       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

will  confide  to  you  that  I  never  minded  saying  (No' 
so  much." 

"You  can't  have  been  more  surprised  than  I  am 
at  this  minute.  Gil  make  love!  You  don't  say!  I 
would  have  supposed  a  stuck  pig  might  give  him 
points!  But  you  have  always  thought  highly  of 
him." 

"When  I  had  to  wound  him  so,  I  was  glad  to 
think  that  I  had  from  the  first  done  him  justice." 

Calls  from  the  corridor  without,  and  running 
footsteps  broke  in  upon  her  halting  words.  There 
was  pounding  on  the  door,  Vee  eagerly  calling  to 
know  if  she  were  there,  as  the  entire  party  waited 
for  her. 

"My  fault!"  cried  Strachan,  "tell  them  all  I  was 
keeping  her!  There,  off  you  go!  Have  a  good 
time,  and  come  back  safe." 

Charis  caught  up  the  neat  roll  of  her  raincoat, 
strapping  it  to  her  shoulder  as  she  ran  downstairs 
with  Vee. 

"You're  well  equipped  for  mountaineering,  Miss 
Garth,"  remarked  Sheila  approvingly  as  they  ap- 
peared; and  Charis  answered  breathlessly:  "I  was 
brought  up  in  the  hill  country." 


It  was  not  until  they  had  passed  Glenridding,  and 
were  on  the  mountain  path,  that  she  remembered 
that  she  had  not  dispatched  her  telegram. 


CHAPTER  XVIII 

THE  MISTY  MOUNTAIN-TOP 

THE  ascent  of  Helvellyn,  by  one  of  the  recog- 
nised tracks,  is  laborious,  but  not  adventurous. 
The  walkers,  not  having  with  them  the  two  least 
active  members  of  the  party,  made  good  going  from 
the  first. 

The  weather,  upon  their  setting  out,  looked  rather 
more  promising,  and  one  or  two  tiny  rifts  in  the 
cloud  canopy,  showing  the  blue  through,  encouraged 
them  to  hope  that  after  all  they  might  be  able  to  see 
some  part  of  the  magnificent  panorama  from  the 
summit. 

Gilbert  quietly  and  very  naturally  attached  him- 
self to  Sheila  Varick.  Morrison  was  discovering  in 
Veronica  the  makings  of  a  good  walker  and  climber, 
and  they  got  on  together  admirably,  taking  the  lead 
during  the  whole  ascent.  Charis  found  herself 
paired  off  with  Major  Doran,  and  was  astonished  to 
find  how  little  this  was  to  her  taste. 

Doran's  manner  was  so  empresse  that  she  began 
to  fear  she  might  make  the  descent  that  evening  with 
another  refusal  to  her  credit.  As  this  must  be 
averted  at  all  costs,  her  companion  did  not  find  her 
at  all  responsive. 

He  was  a  little  puzzled  at  her  unapproachable  at- 
167 


168       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

titude ;  and  this  was  pardonable,  since  Charis  was  a 
prey  to  a  mood  which  she  did  not  herself  under- 
stand. She  was  like  one  goaded,  or  reckless.  Some- 
thing in  her  seemed  to  have  been  jarred,  and  she  told 
herself  that  this  was  the  thing  they  called  shock — 
the  result  of  the  motor  accident. 

Clement  had  made  great  capital  out  of  it  in  his 
letter. 

Suppose  she  had  been  killed,  he  demanded,  and 
none  of  those  with  her  had  had  the  least  idea  as  to 
where  to  send  to  let  her  family  know  what  had 
happened?  She  might  have  been  buried  under  an- 
other name  and  her  father  might  not  have  known 
of  his  loss  for  weeks. 

There  was  little  doubt  that,  as  a  fact,  she  had 
suffered  in  some  obscure  way.  She  had  slept  badly 
ever  since ;  and  it  was  extremely  annoying  to  be  con- 
stantly awaking  with  a  start  from  confused  dreams 
in  which  Gilbert  was  snatching  her  to  his  heart, 
guarding  her  from  imminent  peril — some  gigantic 
wave  about  to  break,  some  horrible  animal  loosed 
from  its  cage. 

It  all  seemed  so  ridiculous  in  the  light  of  day — 
when  one  could  look  at  his  wooden  face  as  he  made 
his  way  up  the  rocky  track,  moving  a  trifle  stiffly,  for 
the  lady  who  had  crashed  into  him  had  bruised  the 
muscles  of  his  back,  and  Charis  knew  he  had  been 
more  hurt  than  he  would  allow. 

She  wished  he  would  have  walked  with  her.  His 
company  was  always  congenial,  and  there  being,  in 
his  case,  now  no  question  of  warding  off  an  impend- 


The  Misty  Mountain-Top       169 

ing  declaration,  she  knew  she  would  have  enjoyed 
the  climb  with  him. 

It  seemed  curious;  for  Doran  was  more  of  her 
own  set,  after  all.  She  began  to  wonder  why  she 
liked  him  so  little.  She  was  obliged  to  fence  all  the 
way  up,  to  steer  the  talk  away  from  the  intimate  and 
the  personal;  and  presently  she  had  a  considerable 
shock. 

They  were  speaking  of  Strachan — of  his  curious 
charm  and  strong  individuality;  and  Charis,  glad  to 
have  struck  so  safe  a  subject,  was  enlarging  upon  the 
pleasure  it  was  to  work  for  him.  "You  know,"  she 
said,  "he  demands  one's  best.  His  kindness  doesn't 
lead  him  to  tolerate  any  slipshod,  careless  ways.  His 
clerk  has  to  be  thorough.  It  is  fine  work,  because  I 
have  to  put  forth  all  my  powers  to  do  justice  to  what 
he  expects  of  me." 

"And  how  long,"  softly  inquired  Doran,  "how 
long  is  the  masquerade  to  last — eh?" 

This  was  so  unexpected  a  buffet  that  she  was 
completely  taken  aback.  "The — the  masquerade? 
What  masquerade?"  she  echoed. 

"Have  I  dropped  a  brick?  If  so,  I  humbly  beg 
pardon.  But  I  concluded,  by  your  allowing  us  to 
bring  you  into  these  parts,  that  it  was  wearing  a  bit 
thin:  in  short  I  was  under  the  impression  that  it  is 
by  now  a  kind  of  secret  de  Polichinelle.  My  sister 
told  me  you  were  recognised  by  one  of  the  ladies  on 
the  car  that  ran  us  down." 

"One  of  the  ladies  thought — imagined — that  she 
recognised  me." 


170       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"I  see  I  have  been  intrusive  and  detestable. 
Please  forget  what  I  have  said.  I  assure  you  I  have 
no  wish  to  pry  into  your  private  affairs — and  per- 
haps I  had  better  give  Morrison  the  tip  to  hold  his 
tongue  carefully.  You  may  not  be  aware  that  he  is 
a  friend  of  Clem  Vyner.  .  .  .  But  I  think  you  ought 
to  be  told  that  the  only  ones  in  this  party  who  have 
no  suspicions  are  the  Browns  and  Strachan." 

Charis  had  had  time  to  recapture  her  control. 
"Really,  Major  Doran,  you  puzzle  me,"  said  she. 
"I  think  Colonel  Morrison  must  have  found  a  mare's 
nest.  I  don't  exactly  know  what  you  are  insinuating, 
but  what  you  say  is  very  disagreeable  to  me." 

"My  sincerest  apologies,  and  only  one  word  more; 
if  you  think  carefully,  you  may  be  able  to  hit  upon  a 
reason  why  I  should  wish  to  convey  to  you  the 
knowledge  that  I,  personally,  am  not  deceived.  The 
device  of  the  disguised  heiress  is  still  popular  in  fic- 
tion. There  should,  I  feel,  be  perfect  honesty  on 
the  part  of  one  who  thinks  as  highly  of  you  as  I  do." 

Charis  drew  a  long  breath,  touched  and  surprised 
by  this  evidence  of  delicacy  of  mind.  The  Major, 
wishing  to  marry  her,  would  not  allow  her  to  sup- 
pose that  he  really  believed  her  to  be  the  Miss  Garth 
who  took  a  salary  for  clerical  work. 

She  felt  bitterly  ashamed.  His  straightforward- 
ness made  her  own  path  look  crookeder  than  ever. 
She  felt  inclined  to  blurt  out:  "You  are  a  good  fel- 
low and  a  gentleman!"  But  she  dared  not  risk  the 
result  of  such  candour. 

"Oh,  if  you  have  this  curious  notion  in  your  head, 


The  Misty  Mountain-Top       171 

you  were  perhaps  right  to  tell  me  of  it,"  said  she,  in 
tones  as  careless  as  she  could  manage.  "I  must  pick 
my  crow  with  Colonel  Morrison,  who  has  been  sup- 
plying you  with  these  wild  surmises.  Oh,  look! 
What  a  terrific  bit  of  rock !  Is  that  Striding  Edge  ?" 

"It  is  indeed,  and  here  is  where  we  do  a  bit  of 
climbing.  Morrison  said  he  would  take  us  over. 
Look  at  Miss  Vee !  How  she  goes !  But  you  are 
pretty  well  as  good.  In  which  of  your  clerk's  jobs 
did  you  study  mountaineering?  Oh,  I  beg  pardon! 
That's  forbidden,  isn't  it?" 

"You  seem  to  forget  that  even  clerks  have  holi- 
days. When  we  reach  the  top  of  this,  we  are  not 
far  from  the  summit,  are  we?" 

"I  believe  not.    Fine,  isn't  it?" 

"Isn't  this  near  the  spot  where  the  dead  traveller 
was  guarded  by  his  dog  for  weeks?" 

"You'll  see  their  monument  when  we  reach  the 
summit." 

Talk  died  down  into  mere  ejaculations  and  com- 
ments upon  the  ascent.  But  the  beating  of  Charis's 
heart  was  still  hardly  normal  when  they  all  as- 
sembled upon  the  bare,  stony  plateau  of  the  summit, 
and  drew  within  the  shelter  of  the  four-armed  stone 
wall  erection  which  offers  bleak  asylum  from  the 
wind. 

"Excellent  time !"  cried  Morrison,  exultingly  con- 
sulting his  watch.  "What  ho,  comrades !  We  stand 
upon  the  summit  of  achievement!" 

"If  only  we  could  see  just  a  very  few  inches 
beyond  our  noses!"  sighed  Mrs.  Varick. 


172       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"If  I  had  such  a  nice  nose  as  yours,  Mrs.  Varlck, 
I  don't  think  I  should  have  much  desire  to  see 
beyond!" 

"Surely  that  would  limit  her  point  of  view  too 
sternly,"  put  in  Gilbert. 

"Thanks,  Gil,"  cried  Sheila,  "it's  lovely  to  be  told 
one's  nose  is  small — nothing  flatters  a  woman  more. 
Yet  a  large  nose  is  a  sign  of  character,  they  say  1  I 
ought  to  be  a  nincompoop !" 

"Well,  dear  girl,  nobody  has  said  you  are  not," 
observed  the  Major  fraternally. 

"We  don't  say  quite  such  obvious  things  as  that, 
though  we  are  not  all  of  us  wits,"  returned.Gil.  "We 
had  better  sit  down  in  the  shelter  of  this  place  and 
eat  our  lunch,  hadn't  we?" 

"What  is  the  good  of  a  wind,  if  it  won't  clear 
the  sky  for  us?"  complained  Charis.  "Let's  see  what 
way  it  blows" — holding  her  handkerchief  in  the 
breeze — "ah,  I  see  you  have  chosen  the  right  corner 
for  us,  Mr.  Brown." 

"Sit  here,"  said  Gil  quietly,  motioning  to  where 
he  had  laid  a  folded  mackintosh  upon  the  stone -seat. 
She  smiled  gratefully.  "Thank  you,"  said  she,  sit- 
ting down;  and,  after  a  moment's  hesitation,  he 
deliberately  took  his  place  at  her  side. 

He  was  indeed  taking  his  rebuff  finely.  She  had 
not  foreseen,  nor  reckoned  upon  the  effect  his  de- 
meanour produced  upon  her.  It  was  something  to 
admire  and  to  wonder  at.  Charis  recalled  the  be- 
haviour of  her  cousin  Clement  after  their  rupture — 
his  resentment,  his  childish  mortification  at  being 


The  Misty  Mountain-Top       173 

thwarted — the  things  he  had  made,  and  was  still 
making,  her  endure  in  his  pig-headed  obstinacy;  and 
she  came  to  the  concluson  that  either  Gilbert  was 
much  more  completely  a  gentleman  at  heart  than  his 
rival,  or  that  he  was  not  feeling  things  nearly  as 
much  as  she  expected. 

No  one  could  have  guessed,  his  bearing  being  so 
completely  natural,  that  he  was  staggering  under  a 
blow  which  he  felt  to  be  mortal.  But  just  once  his 
courage  did  fail  him,  and  the  glimpse  she  then  ob- 
tained of  what  he  was  going  through  startled  her. 

The  weather  was  bitterly  cold,  and  as  they  set  out 
she  had  complained  that  the  nipping  air  made  her 
fingers  quite  numb.  When  she  reached  the  summit, 
however,  she  was  glowing  from  head  to  foot.  As 
Gilbert  brought  a  package  of  meat  pasties  and 
stooped  to  hand  them  to  her,  he  said :  "I  hope  your 
hands  are  warm  now?" 

"Why,"  cried  she,  "I'm  warm  to  the  very  tips  of 
my  fingers !  Feel !  Just  feel !" 

She  laid  her  bare  hand  over  his — the  wonderful 
hand,  so  fine  in  texture,  so  unlike  that  of  any  woman 
he  knew;  the  first  thing  upon  which  his  eye  had 
rested,  in  perfect  satisfaction,  upon  the  fatal  evening 
when  this  new  planet  swam  into  his  ken.  At  the 
touch  he  actually  flinched,  flinging  her  a  look  which 
mutely  asked:  "Is  there  to  be  no  limit  to  my  pur- 
gatory?" 

Then,  withdrawing  from  the  unbearable  contact, 
he  said,  "That's  very  satisfactory,"  and,  strolling 
away  a  few  paces,  stood  with  back  turned.  She  knew 


174       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

he  was  fighting  for  control,  repairing  armour  tem- 
porarily pierced;  and  a  kind  of  anger  vexed  her. 
He  had  no  right  to  be  so  splendid! 

In  a  minute  or  two  he  sauntered  back,  and,  with- 
out resuming  his  place,  stood  munching  his  sandwich. 
"I'm  afraid  the  mists  are  coming  lower,"  said  he; 
"we  are  not  going  to  have  any  view." 

"What  a  pity !  However,  we  can  all  proudly  say 
that  we've  climbed  the  dark  brow  of  the  mighty  Hel- 
vellyn,"  said  Vee.  "Did  they  make  you  learn  that 
at  school?  How  does  it  go: 

"On  the  right,  Striding  Edge  round  the  Red  Tarn  was  bending, 
And  Catchedicam  its  left  verge  was  defending 

Isn't  that  a  fine  description?  I'm  glad  we  came  up 
that  way,  and  just  caught  a  glimpse  of  the  little 
Tarn!" 

"Which  way  do  we  go  on  from  here?"  asked 
Gilbert. 

Morrison  indicated  the  direction  with  his  hand. 
"Round  there — across  the  end  of  Swirrel  Edge,  and 
over  Low  Man.  I  did  propose  to  go  down  by  the 
Dodds,  but  it's  useless  to  do  that  with  the  weather 
so  thick,  merely  a  long  dull  tramp  over  grassy 
slopes;  so  I  propose  to  strike  off  just  above  Keppel- 
cove  Tarn,  and  come  down  past  the  mines  to  Glen- 
ridding.  No  need  for  hurry,  we  have  plenty  of  time, 
these  ladies  are  all  so  game." 

"Easier  than  I  expected,"  said  Vee,  with  keen 
satisfaction.  "How  I  wish  I  could  tackle  a  real 
climb!" 


The  Misty  Mountain-Top       175 

"I'm  sure  you  could,  too,"  replied  Morrison,  with 
enthusiasm.  "If  we  are  still  here  to-morrow,  I 
would  like  to  take  you  over  Sharp  Edge — on  Sad- 
dleback." 

"Saddleback,  did  you  say?  That's  Blencathra, 
isn't  it?" 

"Yes.  We  could  motor  to  Mungrisedale  in 
Strachan's  car  and  go  up  from  there.  But  perhaps 
you'd  be  too  tired." 

"And  Gilbert  won't  be  here,"  said  Sheila  sadly. 
"He  tells  me  he  is  going  off  to-morrow  to  collect  his 
kit  for  Canada." 

"Shame!"  cried  Morrison.  "Surely,  Brown, 
there's  no  need  for  you  to  break  up  the  happy  home 
like  this?" 

"Think  how  we  shall  miss  you,"  mourned  Sheila. 
"My  camera  never  will  behave  itself  for  anybody  but 
you." 

"To  be  missed  by  your  camera,  Mrs.  Varick,  is 
better  than  not  being  missed  at  all.  But  you  see  I 
must  go  out  into  the  world  and  make  my  fortune." 

"Lucky  beggar !  With  a  tame  millionaire  at  your 
elbow  to  propel  you  gently  along  the  golden  road," 
sighed  Morrison. 

"Just  so.  I'm  not  insensible  to  my  blessings,  I 
assure  you.  I  mean  to  do  my  best  to  'make  good,' 
as  dear  old  George  would  say." 

"Fill  glasses!"  cried  Sheila  suddenly.  "Let  us 
drink  the  health  of  the  new  Columbus !" 

They  all  rose  to  their  feet,  and  Doran  went  round, 


176        The  Judgment  of  Charis 

filling  up  the  tin  cups  with  the  wine  which  Strachan 
had  insisted  upon  providing. 

"Here's  to  our  adventurer!  May  he  make  good  I" 
cried  Sheila,  touching  her  mug  to  Gilbert's. 

"Best  of  luck,  old  man!  Come  back  bursting 
with  oof!"  added  Vee. 

"Show  them  a  bit  of  the  British  Terrier,"  from 
Morrison. 

"May  your  fine  courage  carry  you  through,"  said 
Charis  softly.  There  was  almost  a  plea  in  her  eyes 
as  she  extended  the  ridiculous  tin  cup.  Gilbert 
touched  it  with  his  own,  but  did  not  look  at  the 
drinker. 

"Courage!  You're  right,  Miss  Garth,"  said 
Doran.  "It  was  he  who  ought  to  have  pouched  the 
D.S.O.  they  gave  me.  These  things  always  go  to 
the  wrong  chap,  somehow.  Here's  luck,  Gil!  May 
Canada  appreciate  you  at  your  true  value.  Don't  be 
too  modest,  old  son!" 

Gil  smiled  queerly.  "I  don't  think  modesty  is  one 
of  my  failings.  What  do  you  say,  Miss  Garth?" 

It  was  the  solitary  thrust  he  permitted  himself, 
and  she  took  it  meekly. 


CHAPTER  XIX 

LOST!  LOST!   LOST! 

AFTER  this  little  ceremony,  lunch  was  packed 
away,   cigarettes   discussed,   and  the   descent 
began. 

Charis  found  Gilbert  at  her  side.  That  this  pro- 
pinquity should  give  her  disturbing  thrills  was 
doubtless  absurd ;  but  nervous  shock  is  an  odd  thing. 
You  do  not  know  you  are  suffering  from  it  until  the 
symptoms  break  out  in  this  annoying  fashion. 

Fiercely  she  determined  to  jump  upon  insurgent 
emotion,  and  be  as  natural  and  dignified  as  was  her 
rejected  suitor.  Surely  if  he,  who  was  confessedly 
suffering,  could  be  cool,  why  not  she,  who  was  not 
suffering  at  all,  save  for  her  compunction  in  having 
inflicted  pain? 

Desperately  she  began  to  talk — to  say  anything 
that  came  first,  out  of  sheer  nervousness.  They  had 
been  reading  Wordsworth's  "Ode  for  the  Festival 
at  Brougham  Castle,"  when  the  rightful  heir  came 
into  his  own.  She  was  puzzled  by  the  allusion  to 
"the  undying  fish  that  swim  in  Bowscale  Tarn."  It 
seemed  quite  natural  that  Gilbert  should  be  able  to 
enlighten  her.  They  conversed  together  upon  the 
local  references  in  the  poem  with  complete  mutual 
satisfaction.  What  Gilbert  had  claimed  was  per- 
fectly true.  She  was  never  bored  in  his  company. 

177 


178       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

Nevertheless,  no  pause  in  the  conversation  could 
be  tolerated;  and  when  Lord  Clifford's  wanderings 
had  been  discussed,  she  dashed  on  headlong,  filling 
up  the  silence. 

"As  you  are  leaving  at  once,  I  conclude  that  your 
father  is  pleased  with  Mr.  Strachan's  offer?" 

"What  did  you  say?"  He  seemed  to  start  from 
abstraction.  "Oh,  yes,  naturally.  As  you  prophe- 
sied, my  mother  seems  to  be  making  rather  a 
trouble  of  it;  but  her  view  of  life  is  a  bit  narrow. 
She  has  an  idea  that  you  only  ship  a  man  off  to 
Canada  if  he  is  a  hopeless  rotter.  Well,  I'm  not 
exactly  that  perhaps;  but  all  the  same,  I'm  a  failure 
— in  love,  in  war,  in  business.  So  to  Canada  it  is 
fitting  that  I  go." 

"If  you  are  going  in  that  spirit,"  she  cried  with 
vexation,  "you  will  never  succeed!" 

"You  think.not?" 

"And  it's  so  important  that  you  should  succeed." 

"Important?  To  whom?  Oh,  I  see.  You  are 
thinking  of  my  Cousin  George." 

"Of  course  I  am.  I  told  him  he  might  trust  you. 
I  said  I  knew  you  would  not  let  him  down.  Don't 
make  me  a  false  prophet — don't!" 

"Please,"  he  said  with  careful  quietude,  "don't 
try  to  make  me  think  you  care,  when  you  don't  care 
a  rap." 

"If  I  don't  care  for  you,  I  do  for  him,"  she  cried, 
stung. 

"Oh?"  queried  Gil;  and  then,  after  a  pause  which 


Lost!  Lost!  Lost!  179 

apparently  brought  enlightenment  "O-oh!  Is  that 
it?" 

The  echo  of  her  rash  words  came  back  to  her  in 
the  significance  of  his  tone,  and  she  trembled  with 
annoyance.  "Oh,  don't  pretend  to  be  stupid !  You 
know  what  I  mean.  I  am  in  his  service,  I  am 
anxious  to  help  him  all  I  can — "  She  floundered 
for  words,  and  suddenly  felt  that  the  less  she  said 
the  better. 

Gilbert,  who  had  been  walking  with  his  eyes  on 
the  ground,  gave  a  great  sigh,  straightened  his 
shoulders  and  looked  up. 

He  made  a  small  sound  of  consternation,  staring 
in  front  of  him;  and  Charis  likewise  came  to  herself 
with  a  start  and  gazed  around.  They  came  to  a 
standstill. 

Swirls  of  soft  white  vapour,  like  smoke,  were  all 
about  them.  There  was  neither  sight  nor  sound 
of  the  others.  They  stood  side  by  side  in  a  white 
world  of  their  own,  as  though  a  curtain  had  been 
lowered  between  themselves  and  all  the  rest  of 
creation. 

"I  must  shout,"  said  Gilbert,  searching  his 
pockets,  his  face  crimson  with  mortification.  "I 
don't  know  the  way  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  Great  Scott  I 
I  lent  my  map  to  Doran  at  lunch,  and  he  hasn't  re- 
turned it!" 

"Oh,  shout!"  urged  Charis,  "please  shout  at  once, 
and  as  loud  as  you  can!" 

Gilbert  raised  his  voice — he  had  sound  lungs— 


180       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

and  was  answered  by  a  faint  "Hallo!"  through  the 
mist. 

"Where  are  you?  Stop!  Stand  still  till  we  join 
you!"  he  cried. 

A  muttering  of  confused  sound  came  back  to 
them.  They  could  not  distinguish  the  words. 

"Can't  hear!  speak  louder!"  he  trumpeted.  The 
reply  wandered  back  to  them  as  a  wholly  unintelli- 
gible murmur. 

"Idiots!  They  are  moving  farther  off!"  raged 
poor  Gil.  "Why  can't  they  come  back  a  few  steps?" 

"Are  you  sure  we  were  behind  them?"  asked 
Charis  hesitatingly. 

He  bit  his  lip.  Since  they  started  to  walk  to- 
gether he  had  been  conscious  of  nothing  but  her,  and 
they  both  knew  it. 

"If  they,  too,  are  enveloped  in  this  mist,"  she  sug- 
gested, "they  probably  think  they  had  better  not 
move  until  they  can  see  their  direction.  It  is  grow- 
ing thicker  every  minute." 

"Like  having  one's  head  wrapped  up  in  a  blan- 
ket," he  groaned.  "However,  I'll  try  once  more." 
Again  he  sent  out  his  powerful  voice ;  this  time  they 
could  hardly  be  certain  of  being  answered  at  all. 
Silence  fell,  a  curious  silence,  which  seemed  full  of  a 
vast  suspense,  as  if  the  great  mountain  waited  to  see 
what  the  two  waifs  upon  her  desolate  and  stony  sum- 
mit would  make  of  the  situation. 

"I  am  trying  to  remember,"  said  Gilbert  fever- 
ishly, "exactly  what  Morrison  said.  As  far  as  I  can 
recall  it,  he  thought  it  was  useless  to  go  down  by  the 


Lost!  Lost!  Lost!  181 

Dodds,  in  this  weather,  because  one  can  see  nothing 
in  the  way  of  a  prospect.  He  meant  to  begin  by 
following  the  route  down  by  the  Dodds,  and  strike 
off  it,  so  as  to  go  down  Glenridding." 

"Yes,  that's  my  memory  of  what  he  said  .  .  . 
and  didn't  he  mention  that  there  are  cairns  along 
the  track?"  He  moved  away  a  few  steps,  uncer- 
tainly, and  she  cried  quickly:  "Don't  go  away! 
Don't  leave  me  alone!" 

"I  was  trying  to  shape  a  course  by  the  direction 
of  the  wind,"  he  explained,  "but  it  appears  to  have 
dropped.  On  the  summit  there  was  quite  a  sharp, 
cold  breeze  from  the  south-west;  but  now  it  seems 
to  be  blowing  any  way,  or  hardly  at  all.  These 
vapours  are  all  twisting  and  curling  about  like  steam 
in  a  cauldron."  .  .  .  He  paused,  then  turned  to  her 
a  face  she  hardly  recognised. 

"This  is  all  my  miserable  fault.  I  was  so 
wrapped  up  in  my  own  feelings  that  I  could  think 
of  nothing  else.  I  swore  to  you  that  it  should  make 
no  difference ;  and  now  I've  landed  you  in  this  .  .  . 
and  the  mischief  of  it  all  is,  that  though  I  deserve 
to  be  sent  packing,  you'll  have  to  put  up  with  my 
society  for  the  present,  on  the  ground  that  even  I 
am  better  than  nobody." 

He  seemed  as  though  he  would  have  said  more, 
but  his  voice  died  as  he  met  her  hazel  eyes  lifted  to 
his  from  under  the  soft  woolly  edge  of  her  cap, 
which,  with  the  loose  hair  above  her  brow,  was 
thickly  beaded  with  the  condensed  moisture  of  the 
mist. 


1 82       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"Mr.  Brown,  don't  be  silly !  If  I  had  to  be  lost, 
I'm  glad — yes,  glad — that  it's  you  I  am  lost  with ! 
Cheer  up!  These  clouds  are  on  the  move.  There 
will  come  a  jag  in  the  curtain  presently,  and  then 
we  shall  see  where  we  are." 

His  mouth  quivered  as  he  gazed  upon  her.  Then, 
brushing  his  eyes  with  his  hand,  he  drew  a  long 
breath.  "I  might  have  known,"  he  murmured. 
What  it  was  that  he  might  have  known  did  not  ap- 
pear. When  he  spoke  again,  his  face  had  lost  its 
chalky  whiteness,  and  he  had  himself  well  in  hand. 
"I  agree  with  you  that  it's  quite  likely  we  may  get 
a  peep  before  long,  and  I  think  it  worth  while  to  wait 
a  bit.  I  feel  helpless,  because  I  haven't  a  compass. 
One  never  ought  to  go  up  without  one." 

"Well,  I  think  we  are  unduly  nervous.  I  expect 
we  are  only  a  few  steps  out  of  our  way,  after  all." 

"If  this  were  August,  there  would  probably,  even 
on  such  a  bad  day,  be  other  parties  up  here.  But 
at  this  time  of  year  the  ascents  are  not  so  frequent. 
I  think  I'll  try  one  more  call,  shall  I?" 

He  did  so;  but  this  time  there  was  no  response. 

"If  they  thought  we  were  lost,  they  would  have 
waited,  or  turned  back,"  said  she.  "We  have  not 
moved,  so  I  conclude  we  have  only  to  go  on  as  soon 
as  our  way  becomes  visible.  I  dare  say  the  mist 
isn't  so  thick  where  they  are,  and  they  don't  realise 
we  are  in  difficulties." 

"Quite  likely." 

"And  we're  not  in  difficulties,  are  we?"     Her 


Lost!  Lost!  Lost!  183 

smile  was  almost  coaxing.    "We're  just  taking  a  few 
minutes'  rest." 

He  sat  down  on  the  stony  ground  near  her,  but 
not  very  near.  For  a  long  minute  the  surrounding 
silence  closed  over  their  heads  like  an  ocean.  Then 
he  said,  quietly: 

"So,  one  day  more  am  I  deified. 
Who  knows  but  the  world  may  end  to-night?" 

She  sighed,  restlessly.  In  every  pulse  she  felt  his 
influence.  He  was  not  looking  at  her,  he  was  de- 
manding nothing;  but  he  seemed  to  her  to  be  dan- 
gerously strong. 

"Mr.  Brown,"  said  she  suddenly,  "you  mustn't. 
Kindly  allow  me  the  free  use  of  my  own  will  and 
judgment." 

"I'm  not;  at  least,  I'm  trying  not  to,"  was  the 
cryptic  response.  A  spectator  might  have  recalled 
Wordsworth's  comment  on  the  Brownings:  "Well, 
it  is  to  be  hoped  they  understand  each  other,  for  cer- 
tainly no  one  else  could." 

Charis  understood,  fatally  well. 

"A-a-ah  1"  cried  he,  breaking  the  intense  moment. 

The  veil  of  white  showed  dark  spots  in  its  heart. 
It  raced  on,  tossing  wild,  Kiihleborn-like  arms.  The 
arid  waste  at  their  feet  unrolled  slowly  before  them; 
they  saw  a  little  heap  of  stones — then  another. 

"The  cairns!"  cried  Gilbert,  springing  to  his  feet. 
"We  are  on  the  path  all  right — dead  on  it!" 

He  helped  her  up  and  they  moved  on  eagerly. 
They  could  perceive  a  faint  trackr  and  this  they  fol- 


184       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

lowed  for  some  time,  the  mist  just  allowing  them  a 
glimpse  of  the  next  little  cairn  ahead.  When  they 
had  gone  some  way  there  was  a  further  lifting  of  the 
veil,  which  showed  them  on  their  right  a  sheer  drop. 
They  were  about  to  skirt  the  upper  edge  of  a  line  of 
precipitous  crags. 

"That  must  be  Swirrel  Edge — no  doubt  the  Red 
Tarn  lies  down  there,  where  the  fog's  so  dense. 
Morrison  said  we  had  to  cross  the  end  of  it,  so  all 
we  have  to  do  now  is  to  go  on  and — why,  look  down 
there — no,  ever  so  far — farther  on  your  left.  .  .  ." 

A  wan  beam  of  light  in  the  valley  glinted  upon 
water.  "The  lake !  Why,  of  course,  that  must  be 
Ullswater.  We're  looking  straight  down  Glenrid- 
ding.  Ah,  well,  we  are  all  right  now!" 

"My  guilty  conscience  made  me  lose  heart  too 
soon,"  he  apologised,  as  they  made  the  best  of  their 
way  onward.  As  they  progressed  the  way  became 
each  instant  more  difficult.  Gilbert  had  not  expected 
to  find  it  so  hard,  so  much  of  an  actual  climb  as  it 
was  proving  to  be. 

He  was  no  mountaineer,  but  he  was  strong,  steady 
and  capable.  He  felt  that  his  companion  knew  more 
about  rocks  than  he  did.  She  made  no  complaint, 
and  came  along  bravely;  but  the  mist  still  dogged 
them,  hanging  about,  sweeping  to  and  fro,  and 
making  it  impossible  to  see  any  line  of  country  far 
ahead. 

Once  it  came  down  so  densely  that  they  dare  not 
go  forward  and  were  obliged  to  sit  down  and  rest. 
Gilbert  had  some  biscuits  in  his  rucksack,  and  also 


Lost!  Lost!  Lost!  185 

some  hot  drink  in  a  flask.  While  they  refreshed 
themselves,  they  talked — talked  as  it  seemed  most 
unlikely  that  either  of  them  would  ever  talk  to  any- 
one else  on  earth.  Problems  of  destiny,  of  philoso- 
phy, of  religion — upon  each  of  these  there  seemed  to 
be  between  them  that  amount  of  common  ground 
which,  while  it  does  not  necessarily  mean  agreement, 
means  always  an  intelligible  basis  for  discussion. 
Gilbert  knew  that  this  girl  had  received  a  first-rate 
education.  In  fact,  a  passing  allusion  showed  him 
that  she  had  been  at  Oxford. 

In  spite,  however,  of  the  supreme  fascination  of 
their  talk,  he  was  again  on  his  feet  the  moment  the 
mist  lifted.  This  time  the  wind  had  apparently 
made  up  its  mind  to  blow  steadily,  and  soon  the 
whole  of  the  mountainside  below  them  came  into 
plain  sight,  though  all  distances  still  remained 
shrouded. 

"I  think  the  wind  has  changed,"  he  said  doubt- 
fully. "We  ought  to  be  on  the  sheltered  side  more 
or  less  here,  and  it  seems  to  be  driving  right  at  us." 

"All  the  better!  It  will  chase  this  mist  clean 
away!  Now,  you  must  just  drink  this  that  I  have 
poured  out  for  you,  and  then  we'll  go  on." 

She  held  out  to  him  the  cup  portion  of  the  flask. 
"Sorry  you  must  drink  after  me,"  said  she,  "but 
there  is  no  other  cup." 

Gilbert  knelt  down  in  the  coarse  herbage  at  her 
feet.  He  took  off  his  cap,  received  the  cup,  and 
drank,  as  it  were,  sacramentally.  It  was  done  so 
quietly  that  the  significance  of  the  action  would  have 


1 86       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

been  lost  on  most  spectators.  To  bring  himself  to 
her  level,  as  she  sat  on  a  low  stone,  it  might  be  as 
easy  to  drink  upon  his  knees  as  in  any  other  position. 
But  the  import  of  what  he  did  flowed  in  upon  Charis, 
and  shook  her  unexpectedly.  While  ignoring — as 
was  doubtless  his  wish — the  whole  transaction,  she 
found  that  her  voice,  when  she  wanted  to  say  some- 
thing flippant,  was  not  under  control.  She  choked 
and  was  silent. 

Now  that  he  could  see  below  him,  Gilbert  was 
acutely  aware  that  they  had  by  no  means  begun  their 
descent  by  the  best  way;  in  fact,  they  had  lost  the 
path,  and  had  some  very  difficult  ground  to  nego- 
tiate. The  sight  of  the  lake  now  again  visible  was, 
however,  reassuring,  and  he  worked  with  all  his 
might  to  lessen  her  fatigue  as  much  as  possible  over 
the  long  tract  of  marshy  ground  which  they  found 
themselves  obliged  to  traverse. 

He  was  a  good  deal  puzzled  that  the  features  of 
the  hills,  now  that  he  could  see  something  of  them, 
did  not  seem  to  tally  with  what  he  remembered  of 
the  Ullswater  Valley.  As  they  descended,  he 
searched  in  vain  for  some  landmark  which  might 
show  him  how  far  along  the  lakeside  they  would 
strike  the  high  road. 

He  began  to  fear  that  they  must  have  moved  a 
long  way  northward  of  their  true  course,  and  be 
coming  down  not  Glenridding,  but  Glencoyne,  a  mile 
or  two  higher  up  or  rather  lower  down  the  lake 
than  the  portion  near  Patterdale,  which  was  all  that 
he  knew. 


Lost!  Lost!  Lost!  187 

When,  after  a  protracted  and  toilsome  struggle, 
they  actually  came  out  upon  the  firm  white  road,  he 
could  hardly  believe  in  his  good  fortune,  for  it  was 
not  much  after  seven  o'clock — they  might  count  upon 
two  hours  more  of  daylight — and  he  thought  he 
could  certainly  hire  some  kind  of  vehicle  to  drive 
them  back  should  it  turn  out  that  they  had  far  to  go. 

"We  turn  to  the  right,  of  course,"  said  he  doubt- 
fully. "But  I  am  afraid  we  must  be  a  good  way 
from  Glenridding.  It  all  looks  so  different,  doesn't 
it?  The  lake  is  so  much  narrower  here  than  it  is 
where  we  are  staying." 

Charis  agreed.  The  road  upon  which  they  stood 
seemed  to  be  entirely  unfrequented.  It  was  beauti- 
ful, with  the  grey,  wan,  tearful  beauty  of  the  lake 
district;  but  it  seemed  lonely  and  forlorn. 

"Well,"  said  she,  "we  had  better  walk  on.  We 
are  sure  to  find  a  hotel  soon,  are  we  not?" 

"Oh,  quite  sure;  and  then  I  can  get  a  trap  and 
drive  you  back.  I  can  see  you  are  very  tired.  That 
has  been  heavy  going — all  through  my  inexperi- 
ence!" 

"What  nonsense !  The  best  mountaineers  get  lost 
in  a  mist,  and  without  map  or  compass,  what  can 
one  do?" 

They  walked  on  cheerfully ;  but  Gilbert  grew  still 
more  worried  when  the  road  they  followed  ceased  to 
border  the  lake  and  turned  more  or  less  inland. 
They  kept  on,  however,  and  when  they  had  gone  the 
better  part  of  two  miles  they  came  upon  a  small  inn. 

"Good !"  he  cried.     "Now  we  can  find  out  where 


i88       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

we  are !  Courage !  After  all,  we  shan't  be  much 
late  for  dinner  at  the  hotel." 

It  was  quite  a  small,  wayside  affair,  most  unlike 
the  big  hotels  at  Patterdale  and  Glenridding,  and  it 
was  with  a  curious  sense  of  walking  in  a  dream,  or 
a  nightmare,  that  Gilbert  went  into  the  bar  and 
asked  how  far  they  were  from  the  Ullswater  Hotel. 

The  landlord,  who  stood  behind  his  bar,  set  down 
the  glass  he  was  wiping  and  stared  open-mouthed, 
as  though  they  had  asked  how  far  it  was  to  London. 

"Ullswater?"  he  repeated,  scratching  his  head. 

"Yes,  the  hotel  along  here" — pointing  as  he  spoke 
— "the  hotel  by  the  lakeside  at  Glenridding?" 

"Glenridding?  Why,  where  d'you  think  you 
are?" 

"Well,  I  don't  know  exactly  where  I  am,  but  on 
the  shore  of  Ullswater  somewhere " 

"This  ain't  Ullswater.  This  is  Thirlmere," 
ejaculated  the  landlord,  staring  as  though  he  thought 
Gilbert  slightly  daft. 


CHAPTER  XX 

BID  ME  GOOD-BYE 

THIRLMERE!"  they  both  echoed,  unable  to 
believe  their  ears. 

The  landlord  lifted  the  flap  of  his  counter  and 
came  out  to  them,  as  though  he  thought  this  might 
help  to  elucidate  the  situation.  "Where  you  come 
from?"  he  asked  with  interest. 

"From  the  top  of  Helvellyn.  We  made  the  ascent 
from  Glenridding  this  morning." 

"And  then  the  mist  came  down,  eh?  Well,  you 
ain't  the  first  that's  made  the  same  mistake.  Took 
the  Low  Man  Crags  to  be  Swirrel  Edge,  "I'll  lay. 
Came  down  the  wrong  side  of  the  mountain.  Well, 
there  it  is." 

Gilbert  was  so  mortified  that  he  could  not,  for  a 
moment,  say  anything  at  all. 

"We  got  separated  from  our  party,  and  they  had 
all  the  maps  and  the  compass  with  them,"  put  in 
Charis.  "However,  we  are  safe  and  sound,  so  there 
is  no  need  to  worry.  I  suppose  we  can  get  home 
to-night?" 

Gilbert,  glancing  round,  went  to  where  a  big 
ordnance  map  hung  upon  the  wall.  He  examined  it 
closely,  in  a  bitter  silence.  "Yes,"  he  muttered  at 
last,  "I  see  how  it  happened." 

189 


190       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"And  as  I  was  telling  you,  you  ain't  the  first," 
was  the  man's  cheerful  comment. 

Gilbert's  gaze  ran  up  the  map,  following  the  line 
of  the  only  road,  which  ran  northward  through  the 
Valley  of  St.  John  and  then  bent  round,  eastward 
by  way  of  Threlkeld  and  Troutbeck,  dropping  to  the 
lake  past  Dockray,  by  Lyulph's  Tower.  It  was  the 
only  way  back,  unless  you  went,  as  they  had  come, 
over  the  mountain  itself. 

"Got  any  horses?"  he  asked  the  man. 

"I've  got  two,  but  they're  out.  The  Water  Com- 
pany's busy  making  a  survey,  out  by  Hawes  Water 
somewhere,  and  they've  hired  'em.  They  won't  get 
back  to-night." 

"No  car,  I  suppose?" 

"No,  sir." 

"Where  do  you  suppose  I  could  find  either  horses 
or  a  car?" 

"Bad  day  for  that,  sir.  There's  nowt  at  Wyth- 
burn,  I  know,  for  the  survey  men  have  hired  theirs 
too.  Not  nearer  than  Threlkeld  or  Keswick,  I'm 
afraid." 

Gilbert  measured  with  his  eye  the  distance  on  the 
map. 

"Five — six  miles  to  Threlkeld." 

"I  can  do  that,"  said  Charis  determinedly. 

"Well,  if  we  make  the  attempt  we  must  have  a 
meal  first,"  he  replied,  turning  from  the  map  with 
a  sigh.  "Can  you  give  us  anything?"  he  asked  the 
landlord;  "eggs  and  bacon  would  do." 

Their  host  thought  eggs   and  bacon  might  be 


Bid  Me  Good-bye  191 

managed,  and  ushered  them  into  a  little  parlour 
which  felt  chilly  and  smelt  stuffy.  Gilbert  asked  him 
to  light  the  fire,  upon  which  he  summoned  his  wife, 
a  sour,  stony-looking  female,  who  performed  the 
operation  with  seeming  reluctance,  and  then  con- 
ducted Charis  to  a  low-ceilinged  room  almost  com- 
pletely filled  by  a  large  four-post  bed,  and  gave  her 
water  and  a  towel. 

The  water  was  cold,  and  the  girl  guessed  that 
there  was  no  fire,  even  in  the  kitchen,  upon  that 
night  of  supposed  summer. 

"I  fancy  they  will  have  to  light  the  fire  before 
they  can  cook  us  anything,"  said  she,  as  she  reap- 
peared in  the  parlour,  freshly  brushed  and  neat. 
"Hadn't  we  better  say  that  bread  and  cheese  will 
do?" 

"No,"  said  Gilbert  decidedly.  "A  good  rest  is 
necessary  for  you,  if  you  are  to  trudge  these  mortal 
miles  this  evening.  It  won't  be  dark  for  a  long 
time  yet,  and  I  know  George  Strachan  would  want 
me  to  take  care  of  you." 

"But  I  don't  want  to  keep  him  in  a  state  of  anxi- 
ety— for  he  will  be  anxious,  you  know." 

"He  will,"  muttered  Gilbert,  as  though  the  fact 
displeased  him. 

"And  this  waiting  is  all  on  my  account.  If  you 
were  alone,  you  would  go  on  without  waiting  at  all, 
wouldn't  you  now?" 

"If  I  were  alone?  That  will  be  always,"  he  said 
heavily;  adding  after  a  pulsating  pause,  "Oh,  I  see, 
you  think  I'm  behaving  like  a  cad — spinning  it  out — 


192       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

but  honestly,  I  didn't  lose  the  way  on  purpose.  I 
did  actually  believe  that  we  were  coming  down  on 
Ullswater.  I  had  no  intention  of  forcing  my  com- 
pany on  you  all  these  hours.  You  believe  that,  don't 
you?" 

"Yes,"  was  all  her  reply.  She  was  sitting  upon 
a  black  horsehair  couch,  which  was  festooned  with 
many  crochet  antimacassars.  Her  elbow  rested  upon 
its  head,  her  chin  was  propped  in  her  hand.  Her 
eyes  gazed  out  upon  the  little  patch  of  garden 
ground  visible  through  the  window.  As  so  often 
happens  in  the  north,  the  house  had  been  placed 
and  planned  without  the  smallest  regard  for  aspect 
or  outlook.  The  small  mean  back  premises  of  the 
inn  might  have  been  those  of  a  suburban  hostelry. 

Gilbert,  who  had  been  pacing  the  room,  came  and 
sat  down  by  her.  She  did  not  move,  nor  make  any 
sign  of  disliking  his  company.  They  remained  so 
for  some  time,  in  a  queer  stillness  as  though  they 
both  dreaded  the  next  word  or  movement.  A  clock 
with  a  hoarse  wheezy  tick  measured  off  the  duration 
of  that  endless  pause.  The  man's  voice  broke  it; 
but  gently,  as  though  he  handled  it  with  awe.  "I'm 
going  away  to-morrow  ...  I  wonder  what  you 
would  say  if  I  asked  you  to  let  me  kiss  you  good- 
bye?" 

She  sat  upright  with  a  start.  Just  for  a  moment 
she  drew  herself  away,  her  hands  over  her  mouth. 
Gilbert,  accepting  this  decision  without  protest, 
made  to  rise.  Then  her  hand  flashed  out  and  de- 
tained him.  She  gave  a  gasp  which  was  half  a  cry; 


Bid  Me  Good-bye  193 

and  in  a  moment,  how  could  hardly  be  said,  she  was 
sobbing  in  his  arms,  her  forehead  propped  against 
his  shoulder. 

"Oh,  Gilbert,  don't!  Don't!"  she  brought  cut 
amid  her  tears.  "What  have  you  done  to  me?  I 
can't.  .  .  .  Oh,  oh,  it's  unbearable  1" 

He  held  her  closely,  and  his  touch  was  magnetic, 
or  vital.  She  felt,  as  she  afterwards  phrased  it,  as 
if  her  very  bones  were  melting.  His  voice,  low  and 
steady,  sounded  close  to  her  ear. 

"It's  all  right.  Don't  reproach  yourself.  You've 
been  honest  with  me,  and  I  don't  complain.  To- 
morrow I  shall  be  gone,  and  I  don't  think  you'll  be 
any  the  worse  for  having  given  me  five  minutes' 
heaven  .  .  .  will  you?" 

In  sheer  surprise  her  sobs  died  away.  He  was 
extraordinary.  What  any  other  man  must  have 
taken  for  surrender,  he  believed  to  be  merely  the 
outrush  of  sympathy  for  his  suffering. 

"Oh,  you're  uncanny,"  she  faltered,  "uncanny! 
How  came  you  to  be  so — so " 

"So— what?" 

"Like  this!" 

"Why,  you  know  very  well.  What  happened  to 
Cymon  has  happened  to  me.  Did  you  expect  that 
it  would  make  no  difference  ?" 

He  still  held  her — not  exactly  tightly,  but  very 
firmly.  She  made  no  effort  to  detach  herself, 
though  it  was  to  her  as  though  his  very  being  were 
communicating  itself  to  her  in  every  throb  of  the 


194       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

healthy  heart  which  she  could  hear  pounding  in  his 
chest. 

"I  don't  know  ...  I  can't  foresee  .  .  .  how  all 
this  can  end,"  she  murmured,  as  though  she  did  not 
know  what  she  said,  "but  yes — since  it  means  so 
much  to  you — you  may,  Gilbert,  you  may!" 

The  organ  to  which  her  ear  was  pressed  gave  a 
leap,  but  he  neither  moved  nor  tightened  his  hold. 
He  bent  his  head  a  little  and  she  turned  her  face 
upward  with  closed  eyes,  waiting. 

A  tense  moment  went  by  in  which  nothing 
happened. 

"I  was  wrong,"  he  whispered  thickly.  "I — 
mustn't!  Once  done,  it  could  never  be  undone,  for 
ever  and  ever." 

He  could  hardly  hear  the  answering  whisper 
which  was  sighed  forth  into  the  air. 

"I'll  .  .  .  risk  it!" 

Then,  indeed,  she  knew  the  pressure  of  his  warm, 
strong  mouth  upon  her  own — knew  it  with  a  terror, 
a  sudden  realisation  that  the  die  was  cast — that  the 
man  had  been  right — it'could  never  be  undone.  .  .  . 

It  lasted  a  thousand  years.  When  she  was  free 
to  speak  again,  she  moaned  submissively: 

"Very  well,  if  I  must.    Yes.     I'll  marry  you." 

"If  you  marry  any  other  man,  you'll  still  be'mine," 
said  Gilbert  calmly;  but  his  low  voice  sounded  like 
a  paean  of  triumph. 

In  the  ensuing  moments  Charis  was  conscious  of 
feeling  like  two  people  at  once.  Half  of  her  was 
there,  trembling  in  her  lover's  arms — and  half  of 


Bid  Me  Good-bye  195 

her  hovered  perilously  upon  the  brink  of  a  wild 
reaction — of  a  resentment  which  threatened  to  grow 
formidable. 

Just  as  she  was  on  the  point  of  tearing  herself 
away,  the  arms  which  enclosed  her  opened.  With 
steady  hands  Gilbert  put  her  from  him,  rose,  went 
to  the  window;  stood  there  silent,  moved  towards 
the  door — then  back;  and  spoke  what  were  perhaps 
the  words  she  would  least  have  expected  to  hear. 

"I'm  a  cad.  I've  done  the  very  thing  that  any 
man  with  a  gleam  of  chivalry — of  generosity — 
would  not  have  done.  I've  played  upon  your  feel- 
ings, I've  attacked  your  loneliness,  your  fatigue, 
your  pity!  .  .  .  Well,  it's  over.  You  won't  expect 
me  to  say  I  regret  what  has  happened — because  I 
am  going  to  live  on  the  memory  of  it  for  the  rest 
of  my  life.  But  what  you  said  just  then  was  non- 
sense, of  course.  We  are  not  engaged." 

This  announcement  flung  his  lady  into  a  whirlpool 
of  confused  thought.  It  knocked  flat  the  seething 
rebellion  in  her,  leaving  her  so  astonished  that  all 
mental  process  ceased,  and  nothing  was  left  but  a 
tingling  memory  which  caused  her,  who  rarely 
blushed,  to  feel  herself  crimson  all  over. 

"You  .  .  .  mean  that?"  she  succeeded  in  saying 
at  last. 

"I  mean  it.  When  you  were  in  your  sober  senses, 
you  had  no  use  for  me.  You  refused  me  without 
any  kind  of  hesitation.  Now  because  you  are  feeling 
done  up  and  weak,  and  because  I've  worked  you  up 
into  a  state  of  emotional  compassion,  you  have  said 


196       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

what  it  would  cost  you  dear  to  stand  to.  Well,  I 
give  you  back  your  word." 

"I'm  not  in  the  habit  ...  of  taking  back  my 
word." 

"Ah,  you're  brave — brave  and  reckless.  I  must 
take  the  decision  out  of  your  hands.  It's  a  hundred 
to  one  that  to-morrow  you'll  wonder  what  possessed 
you  to  tie  yourself  up  to  a  fellow  you  don't  love." 

She  contemplated  him  with  an  expression  hard  to 
analyse.  Was  he  right?  How  did  she  feel?  Was 
she  relieved?  Or  was  she  suddenly  cold,  like  a 
nestling  pushed  out  from  love's  warm  nest?  She 
could  not  deny  that,  even  with  his  arms  about  her, 
she  had  doubted,  and  rebelled.  Would  her  present 
mood  pass  utterly,  leaving  only  the  ashes  of  a 
momentary  passion,  a  straw  fire?  .  .  .  His  insight 
was  literally  terrible. 

"You  are  ...  an  extraordinary  man,"  she 
murmured. 

"You  won't  think  so  to-morrow.  You  will  see 
me  by  the  light  of  common  day — just  one  of  a  hun- 
dred thousand  mediocre  chaps  with  as  much  right 
to  your  love  as  a  cabbage  has  to  be  the  central  dish 
of  the  dessert  table.  I'm  under  no  illusions  myself, 
and  you  shall  not  be  either  if  I  can  help  it.  If,  when 
this  is  all  over  and  I  have  gone  to  Ontario,  you 
should  feel  that  you  can't  live  without  me  ...  why 
then" — with  a  wry  smile — "you  can  write  and  tell 
me  so.  But  this  evening,  there  is  no  question  of  our 
being  engaged." 

"And  it  is  of  no  use  for  me  to  protest?" 


Bid  Me  Good-bye  197 

"Not  the  faintest.    I  decide  this." 

"I  wonder  if  you're  right,  or  whether  you're  help- 
lessly, ruinously  wrong?  ...  I  can't  tell.  Perhaps 
it  is  better  to  leave  it  until  to-morrow.  I  feel  so 
wretchedly  uncertain.  It  is  not  so  much  that  I  doubt 
my  own  feelings;  but  there  are  so  many  things  to 
be  considered — to  be  faced — things  you  don't  know 
about — which  I  couldn't  tell  you  about,  unless  we 
were  engaged  .  .  .  and  .  .  .  I'm  very  tired." 

"I  know  it.  Here  comes  your  supper.  Don't 
worry  about  me.  I'm  pretty  tough.  I  can  stand 
things." 

The  landlord's  wife  brought  in  a  sizzling  dish  of 
ham  and  eggs. 


CHAPTER  XXI 

PHYLLIS  EXPLAINS 

THE  rain  was  streaming  steadily;  a  merciless 
downpour  which  looked  as  if  it  meant  to  last 
for  a  week.  It  was  cold  too — cold  as  summer  in  the 
north  so  well  knows  how  to  be. 

The  solitary  occupant  of  the  Rolls-Royce  which 
drew  up  before  the  Ullswater  hotel  was  chilled  and 
shivery;  which  facts  did  not  incline  him  to  toleration, 
nor  urge  him  to  unselfishness. 

The  hall-porter  hastened  out  as  the  great  car 
stopped;  and  Lord  Clement,  emerging,  dashed  for 
the  shelter  of  the  porch  before  turning  to  ask  the 
man  snappishly  whether  there  was  a  Miss  Garth 
staying  there. 

"Miss  Garth?  Yes,  sir.  Young  lady  in  the  party 
of  Mr.  Strachan,  the  Canadian  gentleman." 

"Is  she  in?" 

The  porter  gave  a  sheepish  grin,  as  though  the 
question  were  amusing.  "Well,  no,  sir,  she  isn't, 
not  at  present,"  he  replied  affably. 

The  reply  infuriated  the  young  man.  So  she  had 
gone  out,  had  she?  Perhaps  this  man  was  aware 
that  she  had  gone  out  to  avoid  her  visitor.  He 
knew  that  he  deserved  to  be  treated  in  this  way,  and 

108 


Phyllis  Explains  199 

the  knowledge  made  him  all  the  angrier.  "Can  you 
tell  me  at  what  time  she  is  likely  to  be  in?" 

"Well,  sir,  for  the  matter  of  that,  they  might  get 
back  pretty  soon,  now.  Mr.  Strachan  and  Mrs. 
Varick,  one  of  the  ladies  of  the  party,  have  gone  in 
the  car  to  fetch  her  home." 

"To  fetch  her  home?    Why,  where  is  she?" 

"I  am  really  not  quite  sure,  sir.  You  see,  she 
has  been  out  all  night" — the  visitor  jumped  percep- 
tibly— "with  young  Mr.  Cranstoun-Brown — lost  on 
the  mountain." 

"The  devil  she  has!  And  where  is  this  Cran- 
stoun-Brown, whoever  he  may  be  ?" 

"I  fancy  he's  in  bed,  sir,  having  been  up  pretty 
well  all  night." 

"Are  any  of  this  party  of  lunatics  anywhere 
about?  I  mean,  could  I  see,  or  speak  to  any  of 
them?" 

The  porter  hesitated.  "The  eldest  Miss  Cran- 
stoun-Brown is  in  the  lounge,  sir.  All  the  gentlemen 
are  in  bed,  I  believe." 

"Well,  just  tell  the  eldest  Miss  Cranstoun-Brown 
that  a  friend  of  Miss  Garth's  has  called,  and  would 
like  to  speak  to  her,  will  you?" 

"No  name,  sir?" 

"No.    Say  I  won't  detain  her  long." 

Phyllis  was  seated  before  a  noble  fire,  wearing 
a  rest-gown  of  a  becoming  shade.  Her  few  days  in 
bed  had  slightly  etherealised  her,  and  she  was  look- 
ing her  best.  But  her  mood  was  not  happy.  Cousin 
George  and  she  had  passed  the  whole  of  the  pre- 


20O       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

ceding  day  together;  and  not  only  had  nothing  come 
of  it,  but  she  had  felt  a  detestable  conviction  that  the 
gentleman  was  trying  to  convey  to  her,  delicately 
but  unmistakably,  the  information  that  nothing 
would  ever  come  of  it. 

A  day  or  so  previously,  her  hopes  had  risen  to  a 
giddy  height,  because  he  had  suddenly  presented  her 
with  banknotes  to  the  value  of  fifty  pounds,  saying  it 
was  just  a  small  sum  for  her  to  spend  upon  some 
souvenir  of  their  tour,  when  they  should  reach  a 
place  with  shops  in  it. 

Now,  as  she  looked  back  at  it,  she  did  not  feel 
the  episode  to  be  as  encouraging  as  it  had  first  ap- 
peared. Veronica  had  received  exactly  the  same — 
that  might  be  to  prevent  it  from  looking  too  marked 
— but  was  it  not  more  in  the  role  of  the  benevolent 
uncle  than  in  that  of  the  suitor? 

For  a  few  hours  after  its  presentation  she  had 
lived  in  momentary  expectation  of  his  proposal.  He 
would  naturally  be  diffident.  He  would  feel  that  his 
sober  years  and  his  widowed  condition  were  circum- 
stances against  him.  He  would  dwell  upon  her 
youth  and  freshness,  and  urge  her  to  make  him 
happy.  Poor  old  Cousin  George !  It  was  not  much 
fun  to  have  so  elderly  a  husband.  Naturally  she 
would  have  preferred  a  romantic  love  affair.  But 
it  was  worth  while !  She  saw  herself  seated,  clad 
in  sables  from  head  to  foot,  in  the  smartest  car  that 
rolled  down  Bond  Street,  attended  by  a  skilled  and 
devoted  maid — travelling  everywhere  first-class,  sit- 
ting, as  it  were,  perpetually  in  the  stalls !  .  .  . 


Phyllis  Explains  201 

But  now  that  yesterday  had  passed,  she  was  as- 
sailed by  horrid  doubts.  She  wished  that  she  had 
not,  at  once  upon  receiving  her  fifty  pounds,  written 
to  order  those  exquisite  jumpers  from  Debenham 
and  Freebody !  It  might  have  been  wiser  first  to  pay 
back  that  detestable  cat,  Miss  Garth.  It  was  she 
and  no  other  who  was  to  be  held  responsible  for 
Cousin  George's  defection.  The  poor  man  was 
simply  infatuated  with  his  crafty  secretary! 

At  the  moment  that  the  porter  entered  the  room, 
she  was  indulging  in  the  exercise  of  a  very  strong 
and  ever-increasing  Hate. 

His  message  caused  her  to  prick  up  her  ears.  A 
gentleman — young — friend  of  Miss  Garth — would 
not  give  his  name.  Was  she  by  this  lucky  accident 
to  be  made  the  recipient  of  some  dark  secret,  some 
story  about  the  discreet  secretary  which  should  give 
her  the  whip-hand? 

Burning  with  curiosity,  she  said  she  would  see  the 
visitor;  and  Clem  Vyner  stalked  in,  the  very  image 
of  the  young  nobleman  on  the  stage,  with  a  pre- 
cision of  detail  about  all  his  accessories  which  roused 
Phyl's  admiration,  always  so  easily  stirred  at  sight 
of  a  personable  male.  She  was  still  wearing  a  sling, 
though  the  doctor  had  said  she  need  not.  It  gave  a 
touch  of  interest,  of  pathos.  Faintly  smiling,  she 
half  rose,  begged  the  stranger  to  excuse  her — she 
was  not  yet  fully  recovered  from  a  motor  accident. 

Clem  apologised  glibly  for  his  intrusion.  He  was 
staying  in  the  neighbourhood — had  been  told  that 
Miss  Garth,  too,  was  in  the  accident — had  called  to 


202       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

make  sure  of  her  not  having  been  hurt.  On  the 
threshold  of  the  hotel  he  was  greeted  with  the  news 
that  Miss  Garth  had  been  out  all  night  upon  the 
mountainside.  He  would  be  grateful  to  be  told  the 
exact  facts. 

Phyl  leant  back  among  her  pillows,  dallying  with 
this  situation.  "Well,"  said  she,  after  a  show  of 
hesitation,  "I  don't  know  who  you  are,  do  I?  Am 
I  justified  in  talking  about  Miss  Garth's  affairs  to  a 
complete  stranger?" 

He  looked  pleased  and  approving.  "You're  a 
charming  girl,  Miss  Cranstoun-Brown,  if  you  will 
excuse  the  comment.  But  it's  all  right  really.  I  am 
Miss  Garth's  cousin,  and  my  name's  Vyner.  May  I 
confide  to  you  that  she  is  one  of  the  modern  kind — 
set  upon  living  her  own  life — and  that  her  family 
are  a  little  uneasy  about  her?" 

Phyl's  vanity  began  to  strut.  She  gave  thp 
stranger  a  glance  of  sympathetic  understanding 
which  tickled  him  hugely.  He  divined  that  a  good 
many  men  would  call  this  girl  charming  in  the  first 
few  minutes,  and  be  bored  to  death  in  the  ensuing 
half  hour. 

"Oh,  well,  if  you  are  one  of  her  family,  I  sup- 
pose I  may  as  well  tell  you  what  happened,"  said 
she.  "You  see,  they  all  went  up  Helvellyn  yester- 
day." 

"Pardon  the  interruption — of  whom  did  the  party 
consist?" 

"My  brother,  my  sister,  Mrs.  Varick,  Major 
Doran,  Colonel  Morrison — and  Miss  Garth,  who, 


Phyllis  Explains  203 

as  I  suppose  you  know,  is  secretary  to  my  cousin, 
Mr.  Strachan." 

"Is  that  so?  Secretary!"  His  voice  showed 
annoyance,  or  disapproval.  "Who  and  what,  if  one 
may  ask,  is  this  Mr.  Strachan,  who  needs  the  con- 
stant services  of  a  secretary?" 

"My  cousin  is  a  Canadian — he  has  a  very  large 
business  in  Ontario.  He  is  enormously  wealthy,  and 
has  a  great  deal  of  correspondence." 

"Indeed?  And  I  understand  that  the  whole  party 
which  you  have  mentioned  is  making  a  motor  tour?" 

She  explained  that  this  was  so,  and  related  the 
story  of  the  collision  on  the  Kirkstone  Pass,  which 
entailed  the  laying-up  of  one  car,  and  a  few  days' 
halt  in  their  present  quarters.  "They  thought  it  a 
pity  to  be  staying  here  and  net  go  up  Helvellyn." 

"I  conclude  that  the  young  men  are  practised 
mountaineers?" 

"Colonel  Morrison  is.  I  think  Major  Doran  also 
has  done  some  climbing.  But  my  brother,  who  got 
lost  with  Miss  Garth,  has  never  done  any." 

"Indeed?" 

"Yes,  I  expect  that  was  how  it  happened.  The 
mist  was  very  thick.  It  delayed  the  party  a  good 
deal,  coming  down.  However,  they  arrived  back 
here  about  seven,  and  told  us  that  the  two  others 
were  some  way  behind.  They  said  they  got  sep- 
arated at  the  top,  but  Miss  Garth  was  so  much  the 
best  and  most  experienced  of  the  ladies  that  they  did 
not  worry.  However,  when  they  were  about  three 
parts  of  the  way  down,  they  halted  a  bit.  The  others 


204       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

were  not  in  sight,  and  Major  Doran  suddenly  re- 
membered that  he  had  borrowed  my  brother's  map 
and  not  returned  it.  Just  then,  a  tourist  overtook 
them.  He  had  been  nearly  all  the  way  up,  but 
turned  back  on  account  of  the  mist;  and  he  said  he 
had  seen  the  two,  and  that  they  were  behind  him. 
So  then  they  thought  it  was  all  right,  and  they  came 
home.  But  time  passed,  and  the  others  did  not  ap- 
pear, and  after  dinner  they  went  out  and  made  in- 
quiries, and  it  turned  out  that  the  couple  the  tourist 
had  seen  were  quite  different  people — they  came 
from  Dockray." 

"Then  you  became  anxious?" 

"My  cousin,  Mr.  Strachan,  made  the  most  ridicu- 
lous commotion.  The  others  assured  him  it  was  all 
right,  but  he  worked  himself  up  into  a  tremendous 
state  and  wanted  to  send  out  search  parties  at  once. 
They  persuaded  him  to  wait  another  hour  or  two, 
as  it  seemed  certain  the  others  must  turn  up  sooner 
or  later.  And  presently  it  began  to  rain,  and  soon 
after  to  pour  in  torrents.  So  then  he  insisted  upon 
a  search  party;  and  Major  Doran  and  Colonel  Mor- 
rison went  with  them.  Mr.  Strachan  had  such  a 
severe  cold  that  he  did  not  go;  but  he  paced  the 
hall  and  would  not  go  to  bed." 

"Well,  please  go  on." 

"Well,  between  one  and  two  in  the  morning,  my 
brother  turned  up  soaked  to  the  skin,  alone,  riding 
a  bicycle.  He  had  left  Miss  Garth  at  a  small  inn  at 
Threlkeld." 


Phyllis  Explains  205 

"Threlkeld?  How  in  the  name  of  all  that's  won- 
derful did  they  reach  there?" 

"They  got  turned  round  somehow,  in  the  mist, 
and  came  down  the  wrong  side  of  the  mountain — 
mistook  the  other  lake — do  they  call  it  Thirlmere  ? — 
for  Ullswater." 

"Great  Scott!" 

"Yes,  and  they  couldn't  hire  horses.  They  did 
get  food  at  an  inn,  but  it  seems  all  the  horses  had 
been  hired  for  some  Government  Survey,  so  they 
had  to  walk  to  Threlkeld;  and  the  rain  set  in,  and 
the  weather  was  so  wild  they  were  almost  blown  off 
their  feet.  When  Miss  Garth  arrived  there  she  was 
dead  beat;  and  still  they  could  get  no  horses.  So 
my  brother  thought  the  best  thing  he  could  do  was 
to  hire  a  push-bike  and  ride  here  to  let  us  know  she 
was  safe.  He  said  they  were  giving  her  a  hot  bath 
and  putting  her  comfortably  to  bed  when  he  left. 
He  had  no  map,  and  had  never  been  that  way  before, 
and  the  rain  and  wind  kept  putting  out  his  lamps,  so 
it  took  him  hours  to  find  this  hotel.  Oh,  Mr. 
Strachan  was  angry!  I  have  never  seen  him  angry 
before;  he  is  usually  most  sweet-tempered;  but  he 
rated  Gilbert  almost  unfairly  I  thought.  After  all, 
I  don't  suppose  Miss  Garth  will  be  any  the  worse 
for  it." 

There  was  a  slight  pause,  while  Clem  digested 
these  tidings. 

"And  where,"  he  presently  asked,  "are  they  all 
now?" 

"The  men  are  in  bed  and  Mr.  Strachan  and  Mrs. 


206       The  Judgment  of  Chads 

Varick  have  gone  in  the  car  to  fetch  Miss  Garth 
back." 

Clem  pondered,  then  took  a  decision.  "I  think," 
he  said,  "that  in  these  exciting  circumstances  I  will 
not  wait  to  see  Miss  Garth  this  morning.  She  will 
probably  be  feeling  a  bit  cheap  and  out  of  curl  when 
she  arrives,  won't  she?  And  as  I  have  a  bone  to 
pick  with  her,  I  had  better  select  some  other  mo- 
ment. Do  you  know  how  long  you  will  be  here?" 

"The  chauffeur  thought  they  would  finish  the  car 
to-morrow,  and  if  they  do,  we  shall  be  off  the  follow- 
ing day." 

"Well,  then,  I  think  I  will  look  round  to-morrow. 
But,  I  say" — he  paused  abruptly,  rose,  went  to  the 
window,  stood  there  a  minute  holding  his  hat  behind 
him,  then  came  back  to  the  fireside  and  the  interest- 
ing invalid — "can  you  keep  a  secret,  Miss — er — 
Langton-Brown  ?" 

"Cranstoun." 

"My  mistake.  Forgive  it.  You  look  as  if  you 
could  keep  a  secret  all  right,  you  know." 

"I  would  keep  yours,"  avowed  Phyl,  blushing 
quite  becomingly. 

"Well,  then — h'm — Miss  Garth  is  my  fiancee, 
you  know." 

Phyllis  gave  a  cry  of  unquestionably  real  amaze- 
ment. "Miss  Garth  engaged!"  she  gasped.  "She 
— engaged?" 

"Pardon  me,  but  why  should  the  fact  excite  such 
surprise  in  you?" 

"Oh,  I  don't — quite — know.     But  she  seems  so 


Phyllis  Explains  207 

very  disengaged  somehow.  I  have  always  thought 
she  meant  to  marry  Cousin  George,  if  she  could." 

Clem  laughed,  very  low,  but  so  superciliously  tfiat 
the  tone  pierced  through  even  Phyllis's  obtuseness. 
"I  think  not,"  said  he  good-humouredly.  "Miss 
Garth  is  having  her  fling.  When  she  has  lived  her 
own  life  as  long  as  it  amuses  her,  she  will  return  to 
her  own  people — be  sure  of  that." 

"Well!  I  am  very  much  surprised,"  murmured 
the  girl,  quite  bewildered.  "She  has  never  spoken 
of  you — she  wears  no  ring." 

"That  is  all  part  of  the  pose,  and  it  amuses  her 
while  it  doesn't  hurt  me,"  he  replied.  "She  and  I 
understand  each  other.  Well,  now,  Miss  Lang — 
Cranstoun-Brown,  will  you  help  me  a  bit?  You 
were  loyal  to  her — wouldn't  give  away  anything  till 
you  knew  who  I  was — be  loyal  to  me  too,  and  just 
tell  her  that  her  cousin,  of  the  name  of  Vyner,  looked 
in  this  morning,  but  did  not  wait.  Don't  tell  her  I 
am  coming  again  to-morrow,  but,  if  it  lies  in  your 
power,  arrange  so  that  I  may  see  her  when  I  come. 
Dare  I  ask  you  to  do  this  for  me  ?  Somehow  I  be- 
lieve I  dare !" 


CHAPTER  XXII 

CHARIS  REJECTED 

THAT  rainy,  cold  morning  broke  upon  a  Charis 
to  whom  life  seemed  a  terribly  tortuous  path. 

It  was  late  before  her  eyes  unclosed,  for  fatigue 
had  insisted  upon  its  way,  and  in  spite  of  the  turmoil 
of  her  soul  she  slept  and  slept,  curled  up  in  the  con- 
volutions of  a  vast  feather  bed,  with  a  stone  hot- 
water  bottle  at  her  feet. 

With  her  waking  two  facts  forced  themselves  pre- 
eminently upon  her  mind:  the  first  being  that  she 
was,  or  ought  to  be,  the  affianced  wife  of  Gilbert 
Brown;  the  second  that  she  .had,  without  effort, 
succeeded  in  eluding  Clem  and  his  threatened  visit. 

This  latter  thought  induced  for  a  few  minutes  a 
mood  of  profound  peace;  but,  although  she  had 
once  more  disconcerted  her  pursuer,  she  knew  she 
could  look  upon  this  relief  as  merely  temporary  .  .  . 
and  now  everything  was  complicated  by  her  weak 
behaviour  of  the  past  evening.  In  the  wan  light  of 
the  overcast  skies,  and  the  anxious  mood  which  is 
frequently  the  result  of  trying  to  think  when  in  a 
recumbent  position,  the  idea  of  being  Mrs.  Brown's 
daughter-in-law  showed  itself  as  monstrous,  not  to 
be  thought  of.  Gilbert  had  known  this.  How? 

.  .  .  Oh,  if  she  persisted  in  rushing  off  into  specu- 

208 


Chans  Rejected  209 

lation  as  to  how  Gilbert  knew  things  he  ought  not 
to  know,  she  dare  not  guess  where  she  might  find 
herself  in  the  end.  How  did  he  know  the  exact  tone 
of  voice  which  would  shake  her — the  very  words 
which  would  melt  her.  .  .  .  Above  all,  how,  she 
wondered,  how,  by  what  inconceivable  magic  arts, 
had  he  learned  to  kiss  with  his  soul  upon  his 
lips?  .  .  . 

There,  all  alone  in  that  bleak  little  bedroom, 
Charis  Osbourne  felt  the  tingling  blood  suffuse  her 
at  the  memory. 

It  must  be  delusion,  she  passionately  affirmed. 
That  man — that  suburban  product,  that  steadily- 
stolidly,  jolly  bank-holiday  clerk,  who  had  gone  to 
the  city  every  day  until  he  went  to  the  war,  and  as 
soon  as  the  war  was  over  had  returned  to  his  season 
ticket  as  the  dog  returns  to  his 

How,  she  asked  of  the  unresponsive  heavens, 

could  this  man's  spirit  burn  with  a  clear  steady  flame 
which,  while  they  were  together,  lit  up  all  life  for 
her  with  the  light  that  never  was  on  sea  or  land? 
How  could  his  large,  roughly-cut  mouth  unlock  for 
her  the  gate  of  such  sensations  as  she  had  never 
known,  nor  thought  to  know? 

Could  all  this  be  for  nothing? 

She  repeated  to  herself,  as  if  it  were  a  formula 
with  which  he  had  provided  her:  "When  you  were 
in  your  sober  senses,  you  had  no  sort  of  use  for  me. 
You  refused  me  without  hesitation.  When  I  am 
gone  you  will  wonder  what  possessed  you  to  tie  your- 
self up  to  a  fellow  you  don't  love." 


2io       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"Do  I  love  him?  No,  I  don't  believe  I  do.  It 
is  only  that  I  appreciate,  with  an  appreciation  which 
is  almost  agony,  the  quality  of  his  love  for  me.  All 
my  life  I  shall  never  be  so  loved  again." 

Had  she  but  someone  in  whom  she  could  confide ! 
But  there  was  no  one.  For  she  knew  that  Strachan 
would  say  exactly  what  his  cousin  had  said,  only  far 
more  strongly.  He  had  been  quite  certain  that  she 
would — must — reject  Gilbert.  That  she  should  do 
otherwise  would  be  a  blow  to  him — of  what  kind  she 
declined  to  specify  to  herself;  only  she  knew  that  he 
would  be  utterly  unable  to  find  any  sort  of  reason 
for  her  action. 

Then  there  was  her  father — bless  him !  She  could 
picture  his  round-eyed  distress;  and  Bertalda,  her 
father's  wife:  "Oh,  dinky  daughter,  isn't  this  out 
of  the  frying-pan  into  the  fire?  What  is  the  gentle- 
man? A  grocer?  Does  he  wear  a  white  apron  in 
business  hours?  Surely,  dear,  poor  Clem  is  of  your 
own  tribe,  after  all."  Charis  could  almost  hear  the 
silky,  purring  voice.  And  there  was  her  aunt,  Lady 
Orsover,  Clem's  mother,  starving  in  genteel  pov- 
erty, until  Charis's  money  came  to  the  rescue.  What 
advice  was  she  likely  to  give,  poor  soul  ? 

But  all  these,  her  nearest  kin,  would  have  but 
the  one  verdict.  "Unthinkable !" 

Then  why  hesitate? 

She  need  see  Gilbert  but  once  again — perhaps  for 
a  few  minutes  only,  in  the  presence  of  others.  Then, 
it  would  be  over. 

.  .  .  And  what  after?  What  of  the  tour,  wrecked 


Chans  Rejected  211 

far  more  completely  than  the  car?  What  of  her 
own  future,  since  the  masquerade,  as  Doran  had 
warned  her,  was  wearing  very  thin? 

She  knew  Doran  well  enough,  now,  to  understand 
that  having  gathered  that  she  desired  no  revelations, 
he  would  make  none.  She  could  rely,  both  upon  him 
and  Morrison,  not  to  tell  tales.  But  she  was  in  their 
hands;  not  a  nice  thought — oh,  not  a  bit  nice  .  .  . 
and  anything  might  happen.  Suppose,  for  instance, 
that  Clem  encountered  Morrison  that  morning,  in 
the  hotel?  Then  the  fat  would  be  in  the  fire  with  a 
vengeance.  There  would  be  nothing  for  her  to  do 
but  slink  home  to  Bertalda,  and  her  "I  told  you  soj" 
Home  to  another  onslaught  from  the  Orsover  lot, 
to  a  bullying  which,  she  resolved  afresh,  should 
never  end  in  her  marrying  Clem. 

"I  wouldn't  so  much  mind  marrying  him  if  I  only 
disliked  him;  but  I  despise  him,"  she  thought  rue- 
fully, as  she  pulled  the  bell  to  summon  the  chamber- 
maid, her  mind  further  from  a  settlement  than  it 
was  when  she  began. 

There  was  a  knock  at  the  door,  and  in  response 
to  her  "Come  in!"  there  appeared,  not  the  chamber- 
maid she  had  summoned,  but  the  sweet  little  face  of 
Sheila  Varick,  carnation-pink  after  her  run  in  the 
car. 

Charis  gave  a  little  gulp,  the  other  girl  ran  for- 
ward, and  they  embraced  with  a  heartiness  which 
was  a  little  surprising  to  both.  Then  Sheila  grasped 
the  arms  shrouded  in  the  landlady's  coarse  linen 


312       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

nightgown,  and  gently  shook  Charis,  with  a  very 
wicked  expression. 

"Well,  my  dear,  so  here  you  are,  and  apparently 
sound  in  wind  and  limb!  I  do  trust  you  have  not 
sown  the  seeds  of  a  deep  decline,  as  your  raging 
millionaire  seems  to  expect!" 

"What  nonsense !"  sharply,  with  crimson  face. 
"I  have  never  been  in  one  minute's  danger!  How 
soon  did  he  know  where  I  was?  What  time  did 
Gil  get  in?" 

Sheila  put  her  hands  over  her  ears.  "No  ques- 
tions !  I  am  dumb  until  you  come  downstairs.  Do 
for  goodness'  sake  hustle  into  your  clothes — they  are 
dry,  and  lying  in  a  pile  on  your  mat!  Hasten  down 
to  pacify  him — and  don't  be  alarmed  if  he  should 
eat  you  alive,  for  he  is  like  a  raging  and  a  roaring 
lion!" 


CHAPTER  XXIII 

STRACHAN'S  DISPLEASURE 

NEVER  in  all  her  life  had  Charis  entered  a 
room  with  such  misgivings,  such  self-con- 
sciousness as  she  felt  that  morning  when  she  crept 
downstairs  to  confront  George  Strachan. 

He  was  roaming  restlessly  to  and  fro  from  par- 
lour to  passage,  wearing  his  motor-coat  and  holding 
his  watch  in  his  hand — ready  to  start  for  home  the 
moment  she  should  appear.  His  face  was  curiously 
pale,  his  eyes  seemed  sunk  in  his  head.  They  held 
her  gaze  as  if  they  would  pierce  her  inmost  feeling. 
She  was  aware  that  he  was  furiously  angry,  but  it 
was  at  once  apparent  that  this  anger  was  by  no 
means  directed  against  her. 

After  a  curious  moment  he  took  her  hands,  his 
eyes  still  searching  her  face  apprehensively,  as  if  for 
traces  of  over-fatigue  or  of  resentment. 

"My  dear,  I  can't  tell  you  how  I  feel  about  this 
hold-up.  I  beg  to  offer  my  sincerest  humblest 
apologies " 

"Well!"  she  cried,  smiling  with  an  easy  gaiety 
which  seemed  at  once  to  surprise  and  to  reassure 
him,  "this  is  funny,  you  know!  I  thought  it  was  I 
who  would  have  to  apologise  I  Why,  I  did  a  thing 

213 


214       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

yesterday  of  which  anyone  used  to  hill-country  ought 
to  be  ashamed  to  the  last  day  of  her  life !  I  am 
ashamed,  and  quite  ready  to  own  it!  But  the  man 
at  the  inn  by  Thirlmere  said  other  people  have  done 
very  much  the  same  thing " 

"The  responsibility  does  not  lie  with  you,  my 
dear,  but  belongs  to  that  blundering  ass,  my  cousin, 
Gilbert  Brown.  However,  thank  God  you  seem 
none  the  worse,  so  come  along — we'll  get  you  back 
safely,  give  you  a  glass  of  champagne,  put  you  to 
bed,  and  then " 

"And  then,  I  should  think,  pack  me  in  a  box  with 
cotton-wool  and  dispatch  me  back  to  London  labelled 
'Useless' !  Really,  Mr.  Strachan,  except  that  I'm 
afraid  you  were  anxious,  I  haven't  a  regret.  I  en- 
joyed the  whole  of  it,  even  the  walk  to  Threlkeld  in 
the  wind  and  rain !  But  for  our  bad  luck  in  striking 
a  day  when  there  were  no  horses  to  be  had,  our 
adventure  would  have  been  nothing  at  all ;  we  should 
have  got  home  by  about  eleven !  Poor  Mr.  Brown 
had  the  worst  of  it  on  that  bicycle.  I  hope  he  isn't 
feeling  very  done  up " 

"He  hasn't  got  a  tenth  of  what  he  deserved,"  was 
the  harsh  comment,  as  Strachan  shepherded  her  and 
Mrs.  Varick  into  the  car. 

"How  good  of  you  both  to  come,"  went  on 
Charis,  rallying  him.  "Did  you  expect  to  find  me 
raving  in  brain-fever?  It  is  a  relief  that  you  don't 
seem  to  look  upon  me  as  a  nuisance — for  you  really 
might  1  A  secretary  should  never,  never  behave  as 
I  have  done !  But  do  me  the  justice  to  remember, 


Strachan's  Displeasure         215 

Mr.  Strachan,  that  I  begged  and  prayed  to  be  al- 
lowed to  stay  behind  yesterday." 

"Yes,  and  it  would  have  been  better  had  you  done 
so.  I  see  that  now.  But  I  gave  Gilbert  credit  for 
more  discretion.  I  warn  you  that  my  faith  in  your 
judgment  has  had  a  nasty  knock.  You  told  me  he 
was  trustworthy.  What  should  I  do  with  that  fel- 
low in  my  business? — clumsy,  self-seeking,  wrong- 
headed " 

"Take  care,"  broke  in  the  girl;  and  she  was  sur- 
prised at  the  anger  which  suddenly  shook  hef. 
"Don't  say  such  things.  Mr.  Brown  was  the  best 

of   companions.      I    am   very   glad    he    was   with 

»> 

"Thank  you,  my  dear,  but  you  need  not  trouble 
to  say  things  like  that  to  me,"  was  the  reply,  in  tones 
of  such  concentrated  bitterness  that  she  flushed 
brightly,  and,  turning  to  the  much-puzzled  Sheila, 
changed  the  subject  abruptly. 

It  was  past  midday,  and  they  paused  on  their 
homeward  journey  when  they  reached  Dockray,  and 
had  lunch  at  the  comfortable  little  hotel,  where  one 
is  waited  on  by  such  charming  girls. 

When  they  reached  Ullswater,  half  an  hour  later, 
most  of  the  hotel  guests  seemed  to  be  in  the  lounge 
to  acclaim  their  arrival,  and  to  be  assured  that  Miss 
Garth  was  none  the  worse  for  her  exploit. 

Strachan,  however,  would  not  allow  her  to  linger 
a  moment.  It  seemed  that  there  was  something  on 
his  mind  which  he  must  utter  at  once.  He  took  her 
arm  and  piloted  her  through  the  crowd  to  the  sit- 


2i6       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

ting-room,  which  he  had  reserved  throughout  their 
stay  for  the  use  of  his  party. 

If  he  expected  to  find  it  empty  he  was  disap- 
pointed, for  the  others  were  all  there,  the  men  lean- 
ing over  the  table,  poring  above  a  large-scale  map 
upon  which  Gilbert  was  showing  them  the  track  of 
his  wanderings. 

Xhere  was  a  chorus  of  welcome  as  they  entered, 
and  a  good  deal  of  chaff  from  Doran  and  Vee. 
Phyllis,  sitting  by  the  fire,  smiled  at  the  thought  of 
the  bomb  she  had  in  her  hand,  ready  to  throw.  For 
this  there  was  at  present  no  chance,  for  the  buzz  of 
talk  was  incessant.  Charis  herself  said  little,  how- 
ever; she  was  standing  in  a  kind  of  stupor  of  irreso- 
lution, her  eyes  upon  Gilbert,  who,  after  a  grave 
greeting,  had  given  no  sign  and  would  not  look  at 
her. 

He  was  holding  fast  to  their  agreement,  deter- 
mined to  show  that  there  was  nothing  between  them. 
She  gazed  upon  him  in  a  pathetic  bewilderment, 
searching  his  heavy  face  for  some  sign  of  what  he 
was  feeling,  trying  to  realise  that  this  almost  loutish 
young  man  was  the  only  one  in  her  life  so  far  who 
had  shown  her  what  passion  meant. 

Those  moments  at  the  inn  had  so  wrought  upon 
her  that  she  experienced  a  disturbance  in  all  her 
being,  the  result  of  merely  being  in  the  same  room 
with  him.  Because  he  was  there,  she  could  not  feel 
detached,  nor  completely  mistress  of  herself,  but 
was  conscious  of  an  urge,  a  compelling  impulse,  as 


Strachan's  Displeasure         217 

though  there  were  some  definitely  magnetic  quality 
in  his  heavy  quietude. 

She  was  forced  to  shake  it  off,  for  she  was  called 
upon  to  give  a  detailed  account  of  their  proceedings. 

"We  can't  get  a  word  out  of  Gil,"  she  was  told, 
"we  want  to  know  how  you  came  to  let  us  pass  out 
of  your  sight." 

"I  really  don't  know,  except  that  we  were  so  in- 
terested in  what  we  were  talking  about,"  she  avowed, 
"and " 

"What  were  you  talking  about?"  asked  Vee  at 
once. 

"I  don't  quite  remember,  but  I  think  it  was  Berg- 
son — wasn't  it  Bergson,  Mr.  Brown?" 

"A  sufficiently  nebulous  subject,"  dryly  com- 
mented Doran,  "to  create  a  mist  all  around  you,  even 
had  there  not  been  one  already." 

"Bergson!  What  do  you  know  about  him,  Gil?" 
asked  Vee  contemptuously. 

"More  than  I  did  yesterday,"  returned  her 
brother  with  provoking  calm. 

"It  was  entirely  the  fault  of  you  others,  and  not 
ours  at  all;  in  fact,  we  are  graciously  prepared  to 
receive  an  unqualified  apology,"  said  Chans,  swiftly 
carrying  the  war  into  the  enemy's  country.  "We 
called  loudly  enough,  and  begged  of  you  not  to  move 
until  we  had  rejoined  you.  We  could  hardly  hear 
what  you  said  in  reply,  and  you  at  once  hurried  off, 
quite  out  of  earshot." 

As  she  foresaw,  this  highly  provocative  statement 
produced  instant  argument,  denial  and  recrimina- 


218       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

tion.  The  party  averred  that  they  could  hear  Gil- 
bert quite  clearly,  that  they  thought  he  was  making 
a  fuss  about  nothing,  but  that  they  had  bidden  him 
come  on,  and  they  were  prepared  to  maintain  that 
he  had  replied  "Right  you  are  I"  The  reasons  why 
Morrison  and  the  rest  could  hear  clearly,  while  the 
lost  ones  could  hardly  hear  at  all,  were  debated  with 
animation. 

This  gave  time  to  Charis  to  collect  herself  a  little, 
and  ask  herself  what  she  intended  to  do.  Gilbert 
evidently  meant  to  leave  it  entirely  to  her.  She  was 
free  to  say  what  she  liked.  It  was  Strachan  who  was 
flying  the  danger  signals,  and  his  demeanour  sur- 
prised her  considerably.  He  was  enraged  against 
Gilbert  to  the  point  of  declining  to  hear  a  word  in 
his  defence,  and  this  seemed  excessive.  With  the 
exception  of  the  scene  at  the  inn,  of  which  Strachan 
was  ignorant,  it  was  difficult  to  see  what  fault  could 
be  found  with  the  young  man's  behaviour. 

For  the  first  time  she  asked  herself  whether  it 
was  possible  that  Gilbert's  innuendo  of  the  previous 
day  might  be  true — that  Strachan  was  seriously  his 
rival.  Jealousy,  real  raging  jealousy  seemed  the 
only  thing  to  account  for  the  fury  of  the  gentle 
George. 

The  thought  was  to  her  almost  ridiculous.  That 
she,  Charis  Osbourne,  should  have  resisted  without 
effort  more  than  one  suitable  applicant  (as  Miss 
Austen  might  call  them)  only  to  succumb  now,  either 
to  a  Canadian  lumber  merchant  or  his  extremely 
bourgeois  cousin ! 


Strachan's  Displeasure         219 

Yet  she  knew  that  never  had  she  liked  a  man  as 
well  as  she  liked  Strachan,  and  never  come  half  so 
near  to  loving  one  as  she  had  come  to  loving  Gilbert 
Brown  I 

Involuntarily  she  put  her  hands  upon  the  arms  of 
her  chair  as  though  she  felt  herself  slipping  into  an 
abyss.  What  could  she  do?  Go  back  to  Ringland, 
and  take  up  life  as  she  had  known  it  before  her  ex- 
cursion into  the  ranks  of  the  workers?  Oh,  never, 
never!  With  the  revulsion  of  distaste  came  the 
thought  of  Clem.  Had  he  called  that  morning,  and 
how  had  he  taken  the  rebuff  of  her  absence? 

Phyllis,  seated  at  her  ease  opposite  her,  smiled 
maliciously  as  she  watched  the  evident  uneasiness  of 
mind. 

Since  the  departure  of  the  mysterious  visitor,  Miss 
Brown  had  not  been  idle. 

He  had  left  her  in  a  whirl  of  excited  fancy.  Never 
had  she  seen  a  young  man  so  exactly  suggesting  the 
ideal  hero  of  a  novel.  The  thought  of  his  being 
engaged  to  her  cousin's  secretary — the  designing 
minx  who  was  setting  her  cap  at  Gilbert,  as  no  one 
but  herself  seemed  to  have  the  sense  to  perceive — 
filled  her  not  only  with  envy,  but  with  genuine  in- 
credulity. It  was  not  possible,  she  told  herself. 

After  cogitation  she  had  dragged  herself  from 
her  basking,  out  into  the  lounge,  upon  the  off-chance 
of  extracting  some  information  from  the  porter. 
Her  success  was  staggering,  even  to  herself.  Did 
he  know,  she  inquired,  the  name  of  the  gentleman 
who  had  called  upon  Miss  Garth? 


22O       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"I  didn't,  miss;  I'm  new  here  this  season.  But 
Mr.  Ball,  he  tells  me  it  was  Lord  Clement  Vyner." 

"Lord  Clement  Fyner?" 

"Yes,  miss.  He  came  in  one  of  the  Ringland 
cars.  He's  his  lordship's  nephew.  Mr.  Ball  was 
telling  me  his  lordship's  sister  married  Lord 
Orsover.  Lord  Clement's  her  second  son,  miss — 
brother  to  the  present  marquis." 

Brother  to  a  marquis  .  .  .  and  engaged  to  a 
typewriting  girl !  It  would  hardly  be  an  exaggera- 
tion to  say  that  Phyllis  tottered  back  to  her  fireside. 
Here  indeed  was  food  for  scandal,  for  upon  the  face 
of  it  such  an  engagement  was  obviously  impossible. 
Some  relationship  evidently  existed  between  the  two 
— but  not  a  fair  and  square,  above-board  betrothal. 

Her  novel-fed  imagination  caught  at  the  idea  of 
a  liaison  such  as  she  felt  sure  must  be  the  true  state 
of  the  case.  The  young  nobleman,  the  too  attractive 
business  girl!  It  was  easy  to  piece  out  the  story. 
There  had  been  a  quarrel.  She  had  run  away.  His 
errand  to-day  was  probably  to  coax  her  to  return. 
Certainly  he  had  seemed  quite  annoyed  at  the  idea 
of  her  being  in  Cousin  George's  employ.  Phyllis 
was  too  well  read  for  the  situation  to  seem  to  her 
in  the  least  unlikely,  though,  as  far  as  her  own  ex- 
perience of  life  went,  she  had  to  own  that  she  had 
never  come  across  any  such  arrangement;  neverthe- 
less she  firmly  believed  it  to  be  quite  common  in 
what  she  vaguely  termed  society. 

.  .  .  And  this  was  the  girl  who  had  managed  to 
suppress  her  past  and  had  obtained  a  post  among 


Strachan's  Displeasure         221 

what  Phyllis  indignantly  described  to  herself  as  "re- 
spectable people."  She  would  now  have  no  scruple 
in  unmasking  Miss  Garth.  She  deserved  anything 
that  might  be  the  result — deserved  to  be  packed  off 
without  a  character.  That  such  a  course  might  fling 
her  back  upon  the  protection  of  the  man  with  whom 
Phyllis  supposed  her  to  have  guilty  relations  never 
crossed  her  vindictive  mind.  That  she  herself  owed 
it  to  the  girl  seated  opposite  that  her  own  dishonest 
transaction  had  been  successfully  kept  from  her 
mother's  ears  was  nothing  to  her  in  that  moment. 
Her  whole  being  was  filled  to  bursting  with  the 
notion  that  she  could  now  counter  Charis's  machina- 
tions where  Strachan  was  concerned. 

It  was  her  plain  duty  to  let  him  know  upon  what 
kind  of  person  he  was  lavishing  his  confidence  and 
his  kindness. 


CHAPTER  XXIV 

CHARIS   CUTS   THE   KNOT 

CHARTS,  deeply  sunk  in  cogitation,  lifted  her 
eyes  with  the  sudden  consciousness  one  some- 
times has  of  being  minutely  studied,  and  found 
Phyllis's  small  hard  eyes  fixed  unwinkingly  upon 
her.  She  had  a  moment's  dread.  Those  eyes 
seemed  to  her  like  the  eyes  of  the  snake — "Move 
and  I  strike;  keep  still  and  I  choose  my  moment." 

What  was  the  import  of  that  look?  What  threat 
did  it  hold  over  her?  .  .  .  Had  Phyllis  seen  Clem? 
Had  she  found  out  all  about  the  masquerade? 

For  some  long  seconds  Miss  Brown  kept  her  on 
the  rack,  until  a  sudden  lull  in  the  conversation  gave 
her  the  chance  she  sought. 

"It  was  a  pity  you  chanced  to  be  away  this  morn- 
ing, Miss  Garth,"  said  she  distinctly.  "Your  fiance 
called  to  see  you." 

Charis  sprang  to  her  feet.  She  said  exactly  what 
Phyllis  had  expected.  "My  fiance !  But  I  have  no 
fiance — that  is — I  had  not.  .  .  .  What  do  you 
mean?" 

Her  confusion  was  plain  and  acute.  Phyllis 
smiled. 

"A  gentleman  called  here  this  morning  to  see  you. 

222 


Chans  Cuts  the  Knot          223 

In  your  absence  he  asked  to  see  me.  He  would  not 
give  his  name.  He  said  he  was  engaged  to  you. 
Surely  he  wouldn't  have  said  so  if  it  isn't  true?" 

Charis's  glance  swept  past  the  fixed  and  immo- 
bile attention  of  Strachan  to  the  face  of  Gilbert, 
watching  her  with  an  intensity  of  suspense  in  which 
he  hardly  seemed  to  breathe.  In  contrast  to  the 
demeanour  of  these  two  she  felt  the  other  units  of 
the  audience  to  be  merely  negligible.  To  justify 
herself  in  Gilbert's  eyes  was,  frankly,  the  one  thing 
needful. 

"The  gentleman  who  would  not  give  his  name  was 
completely  mistaken,"  said  she  steadily.  "You  will 
understand  that  I  cannot  be  engaged  to  him  when  I 
tell  you  that  I  promised  yesterday  to  marry  Mr. 
Brown."  As  she  spoke  she  gave  a  swift  little  smile, 
a  slight  motion  of  the  hand.  It  brought  Gilbert 
stalking  across  the  room  to  her  side. 

"That  is  so,"  was  his  brief  contribution  to  the 
situation. 

Strachan,  who  had  been  seated,  rose  from  his 
chair  with  a  bound,  his  eyes  ablaze.  "No,  by  the 
Lord,"  he  muttered  under  his  breath.  "Not  so  bad 
as  that — never  that!"  And  after  checking  himself 
with  a  desperate  effort  of  self-control  as  his  eyes 
swept  the  ring  of  faces,  he  added,  "Such  an  arrange- 
ment can  never  have  my  approval." 

Phyllis's  heart  leapt  up  joyfully.  After  all,  as  her 
mother  had  once  profoundly  remarked,  blood  is 
thicker  than  water.  Strachan  was  not  so  blinded  by 
the  wiles  of  this  little  adventuress  as  to  be  callous* 


224       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

when  she  proposed  to  become  a  member  of  the 
family. 

"Oh,  Cousin  George!"  cried  Phyl,  "I  knew  you 
would  help.  You  will  do  something  to  prevent  this. 
Think  of  how  distressed  poor  Mamma  would  be — 
her  only  son  .  .  ." 

The  two  men,  Doran  and  Morrison,  were  so  petri- 
fied with  astonishment  that  they  simply  had  no 
words.  One  looked  at  the  other  in  stupid  amaze- 
ment. Lord  Ringland's  heiress  and  Gilbert  Brown ! 
That  was  to  them  fully  as  much  out  of  the  question 
as  Lord  Clement  and  the  secretary  had  seemed  to 
Phyllis. 

Only  Vee's  voice  was  heard,  and  she  cried  stoutly, 
"Rot,  Phyl!  If  they  want  to  get  married  why 
shouldn't  they?  My  dears,  I  for  one  congratulate 
you!" 

Sheila  Varick  would  have  added  her  voice  to  this, 
but  she  was  too  occupied  with  the  aspect  of  George 
Strachan  to  have  any  eyes  for  the  audacious  pair. 
From  crimson  he  had  turned  to  a  dull  grey,  and  was 
evidently  labouring  under  so  strong  an  access  of 
feeling  that  she  wondered  if  he  were  going  to  fall 
down  in  a  fit.  However,  in  a  minute  or  two  he  had 
forced  back  his  excitement  and  could  speak,  though 
slowly. 

"I  dislike  to  be  inconsiderate  .  .  .  but  I  am  going 
to  ask  all  of  you  except  Gilbert  and  Miss  Garth  to 
go  out  of  the  room.  I  will  have  nothing  more  said, 
nothing  discussed,  until  I  have  obtained  the  full  in- 
formation which  I  think  I  may  say  is  my  due." 


Chans  Cuts  the  Knot          225 

"It  is  your  due,"  said  Gilbert  in  a  perfectly  com- 
posed voice,  "and  I  know  I  speak  for  Miss  Garth 
also.  The  others  will  go  and  smoke  in  the  lounge." 

As  he  spoke  he  opened  the  door,  and  after  a 
moment's  surprise  the  others  obediently  went  out, 
headed  by  Sheila  Varick,  and  Phyllis  last  of  all.  As 
she  went  she  turned  to  her  cousin. 

"George,  dear,  let  me  stay — surely  I  ought  to 
know " 

"Go,  if  you  please,  and  quickly,"  was  all  the  reply 
he  had  for  her.  She  cast  a  look  of  deep  malignity 
at  Charis  as  she  went. 

The  three  were  left  confronting  each  other  near 
the  fire. 

Gilbert  had  not  so  much  as  touched  Miss  Garth's 
hand.  He  merely  stood  there,  his  big  frame  tense, 
his  face  wearing  the  look  of  one  who  has  at  last 
completely  made  up  his  mind  and  intends  to  act 
upon  such  decision. 

The  unexpected  strength  he  displayed  only  served 
to  accentuate  Strachan's  displeasure.  No  sooner  had 
the  door  closed,  and  the  young  man  returned  to  his 
position  at  the  side  of  his  betrothed,  when  his  cousin, 
advancing  a  step  towards  him  with  clenched  fists, 
said  heavily: 

"You  hound!" 

This  was  too  much  for  Charis.  "Mr.  Strachan," 
said  she  gravely,  "I  think  you  are  overwrought.  I 
know  that  you  had  a  bad  time  on  our  account  last 
night.  Had  you  not  better  go  and  rest  for  a  few 
hours  before  discussing  this?" 


226       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"No.    We  will  dispose  of  it  now " 

"Please  forgive  my  interrupting,  but  is  it  for  you 
to  dispose,  as  you  call  it,  of  Gilbert  and  me?  Don't 
think  me  ungrateful,  but  indeed  this  is  a  matter  in 
which  I  must  be  allowed  to  judge  for  myself." 

"Just  so.  That's  what  I  mean.  You  have  not 
been  allowed  to  judge  for  yourself.  You  have  been 
driven  and  bullied  into  this — bondage — by  an  un- 
scrupulous young  ruffian  who  led  you  away  from  the 
others  in  order  to  have  you  to  himself  for  hours  so 
that  he  could  work  upon  your  feelings  ...  al- 
though he  knew  exactly  how  you  felt,  because  you 
had  already  given  him  his  answer.  Isn't  that  so?" 

She  was  ready  with  an  indignant  denial,  but  Gil* 
bert  forestalled  her.  "After  all,"  he  said,  "I  think 
the  person  who  should  speak  first  is  I."  He  turned 
then  to  Charis  with  a  restraint  and  deference  which 
impressed  her  afresh.  "Have  I  your  leave  to 
speak?"  he  inquired. 

Afraid  to  trust  her  voice,  for  her  throat  swelled 
suddenly,  she  nodded,  and  let  herself  sink  into  a 
chair,  leaning  her  chin  on  her  hand. 

Gilbert  faced  his  cousin  squarely.  "George,  all 
that  you  have  just  said  of  me  is  true,  with  one  im- 
portant exception.  I  did  not  manoeuvre  to  be  left 
alone  with  Miss  Garth.  I  knew  she  would  not  have 
wished  it,  and  I  am  not  sure  that  I  even  wished  it 
myself.  The  thought  uppermost  in  my  mind  all  day 
was  that  she  should  feel  no  awkwardness  from  hav- 
ing turned  me  down  just  before.  Our  being  isolated 
was  sheer  accident.  In  justice  to  me  I  must  ask  you 


Chans  Cuts  the  Knot         227 

to  believe  that.  It  is  the  only  thing  I  can  urge  in 
my  own  favour.  When  the  danger  was  over,  and 
we  found  ourselves  together  in  an  inn  parlour,  await- 
ing our  food,  I  did  take  unfair  advantage  of  oppor- 
tunity, just  as  you  reproached  me  with  having  done. 
I" — for  the  first  time  he  faltered,  and  a  few  words 
came  thickly  as  he  was  shaken  with  memories — "I 
extorted  a  promise  from  her,  and  afterwards,  when 
my  head  cleared,  I  knew  I  was  precisely  what  you 
have  called  me — a  hound.  I  apologised  at  once, 
saying  I  knew  I  had  behaved  disgracefully.  I  said  I 
would  on  no  account  hold  her  to  that  word.  After 
some  argument  we  left  it  in  this  way.  We  were  not 
engaged,  but  if,  having  slept  upon  it  and  further 
considered  it,  she — she  should  feel  that  she  could 
.  .  .  well,  then,  it  would  be  for  her  to  say  so  ... 
and  .  .  .  she  has  said  so." 

"Yes,"  assented  Charis,  as  though  she  spoke 
mechanically,  "I  have  said  so." 

Strachan  stood  looking  down  upon  her.  His  face 
was  working  with  many  different  emotions.  Then 
he  said  harshly  to  Gilbert: 

"You  have  done  what  I  can  never  forgive.  You 
have,  as  I  consider,  betrayed  a  trust.  I  do  not  wish 
to  have  such  a  man  in  my  business,  nor  to  have  any- 
thing more  to  do  with  you.  Now,  do  you  still  intend 
to  hold  her  to  what  she  has  said?" 

"I  never  intended  to  hold  her  to  it,"  replied  Gil- 
bert gently.  "But  what  you  say  is,  of  course,  con- 
clusive. If  you  mean  that  you  withdraw  the  chance, 
the  business  opening  you  were  giving  me,  my  pros- 


228       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

pe*cts  are  simply  nil.  An  engagement  with  no  hope 
of  marriage  is  a  strain  I  would  not  inflict  on  any 
woman,  least  of  all  the  woman  I  worship.  Charis 
is  perfectly  free." 

Still  she  did  not  look  up  nor  change  her  pose, 
and  as  if  to  sting  her  into  showing  her  face  Strachan 
demanded  acidly: 

"Is  it  true  that  you  are,  or  have  been,  engaged 
to  another  man?" 

She  replied  to  that  without  looking  up.  "Yes, 
it  is,"  she  replied.  "If  you  were  to  say  that  I  was 
bullied  into  that  you  would  be  speaking  the  literal 
truth.  He  is  my  first  cousin,  and  I  never  cared  for 
him  in — that  way.  I  broke  it  off  about  eight  months 
ago,  and  he  does  nothing  but  pester  me.  I  went 
away — disappeared — in  order  to  be  out  of  his  reach. 
Until  quite  lately  I  let  my  father  know  always  where 
I  was.  But  then  I  found  he  told  my  stepmother, 
and  she  told  Clement,  so  I  told  them  they  must  write 
to  me  through  my  bank.  I  was  determined  to  put 
an  end  to  the  persecution.  I — I — Mr.  Strachan" — 
lifting  her  tearful  face  and  her  beseeching  hands— 
"I  simply  won't  marry  him,"  she  said  sobbingly. 

Strachan  took  the  hands,  and  his  voice  softened 
in  spite  of  himself.  "Well,  well,  who  said  you  need? 
Are  he  and  this  great  oaf  the  only  men  in  the  world? 
Come,  let  us  have  an  end  of  this  deplorable  episode. 
I'm  in  a  position  to  keep  you  safe  from  any  young 
cad  who  tries  to  foist  himself  upon  you  against  your 
wish.  We'll  go  out  of  England  if  you  like — we'll  go 
to-morrow — what  is  to  prevent  us?  Why  couldn't 


Charis  Cuts  the  Knot 

you  have  been  a  bit  more  explicit?  We  need  not 
have  come  so  near  the  danger  zone." 

She  withdrew  her  hands  in  order  to  wipe  her  eyes. 
"I  thought  we  should  just  be  passing  through  and 
not  stopping  hereabouts,"  she  explained.  "It  was 
the  accident  on  the  Pass  which  gave  me  away.  There 
was  a  passenger  on  the  coach  who  knew  me  by  sight. 
But  it  was  detestable  of  my  cousin  to  force  himself 
upon  me  after  the  letters  I  have  written  to  him." 
She  felt  in  her  coat  pocket  and  produced  the  tele- 
graphic form.  "See!  I  wrote  that  yesterday,  for- 
bidding him  to  come,  but  we  had  to  start  in  a  hurry, 
and  I  got  no  chance  to  dispatch  it." 

Strachan  glanced  at  the  message,  which  was  ad- 
dressed quite  simply  to  "Vyner,  Ringland."  Ring- 
land  is  a  hamlet  as  well  as  a  castle,  and  the  words 
gave  him  no  clue. 

"Well,"  he  said  soothingly,  "I  think  you  are  abun- 
dantly justified  in  keeping  out  of  the  way  of  this 
young  scoundrel,  but  you  need  not  take  such  a  des- 
perate course  as  to  engage  yourself  to  another  man 
simply  because  he  has  badgered  you  into  it.  There 
is  no  occasion  to  make  up  our  minds  at  this  moment 
where  we  will  go — France,  Switzerland,  Scandinavia 
— you  have  only  to  say  the  word.  But  to-day,  imme- 
diately, we  will  be  off  from  here,  and  will  go  to  Mrs. 
Nicholson's  at  Fratton  Beck.  Those  for  whom  she 
has  no  room  must  return  home.  I  can  arrange  that 
quite  simply.  So  now,  my  dear,  your  way  is  clear, 
I  think.  Gilbert  has  very  properly  given  you  your 


230       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

liberty — take  it.  Tell  him  you  made  a  mistake,  and 
that  will  be  the  end." 

Charis  lifted  her  wet  lashes  and  somewhat  des- 
perately searched  Gilbert's  face.  There  was  no  ap- 
peal in  it.  His  jaw  was  grim,  and  the  line  between 
his  lips  tight.  She  knew  that  he  was  prepared  to 
suffer  anything  rather  than  plead  for  himself;  but 
well  she  also  knew  the  passion  that  rent  the  depths 
of  him ;  and  he  could  not  quite  control  his  eyes.  A 
captive  soul,  almost  despairing,  transmitted  some 
message  to  her,  whether  he  would  or  no. 

She  drew  a  long  breath,  and  knew  with  a  shock 
that  the  moment  for  full  confession  had  come. 

"Please  will  you  both  sit  down?  I  am  going  to 
tell  you  something.  It's — it's  something  that  I  am 
heartily  ashamed  of."  Her  voice  sank  very  low.  "I 
ought  to  have  told  you  of  it,  Mr.  Strachan,  before 
coming  into  your  employ,  but  I  doubt  if  you  would 
have  taken  me  if  I  had.  .  .  .  And  I  ought  not  to 
have  allowed  Gilbert  to  make  love  to  me  until — until 
he  knew — who  I  am." 

The  final  words  were  almost  whispered.  It  was 
not  to  be  wondered  at  that  both  the  men  who  listened 
imagined  something  far  removed  from  the  truth. 
Gilbert  broke  in  abruptly. 

"Nothing  would  have  made  any  difference  as  far 
as  I  am  concerned.  If  you  confessed  that  you  are 
a  German  spy — or — or  a  divorced  wife,  nothing 
matters.  Don't  speak  at  all  if  you  feel  the  least 
reluctance." 

Light  broke  over  her  expressive  little  face.    The 


Charis  Cuts  the  Knot          231 

misery  of  perplexity  gave  way  to  a  beam  of  pure  joy. 
"Gilbert,"  she  murmured,  "you  are  very  splendid." 
For  a  moment  Strachan  was  forgotten.  The  two 
gazed  upon  one  another,  oblivious  of  time,  of  place, 
of  all  but  their  two  selves ;  when  she  spoke  what  she 
said  was : 

"But  the  truth  is  something  you  may  find  it  harder 
to  forgive  than  either  of  those  two  things." 

Strachan's  hand  clenched  suddenly.  There  floated 
into  his  mind  the  trifling  incident  of  the  visit  of  a 
lordling  of  some  sort  to  the  Trenby  Hostel.  He 
recalled  the  way  she  had  displayed  agitation.  A 
young  lord,  and  a  far  too  attractive  typewriting  girl ! 
Into  his  perturbed  mind  there  floated  for  a  moment 
the  horrible  suspicion  which  had  occurred  to  Phyllis. 
Violently  he  rejected  it.  Something  in  Charis  en- 
abled him  to  know  that  it  could  not  be  true.  Yet  it 
shook  him. 

.  .  .  And  then  he  heard  the  girlish  voice,  with  a 
new  note  in  it,  a  tremulous,  calling  note  he  had  never 
heard  before. 

"Gilbert!     I  want  your  hand  to  hold!" 

Gilbert  slipped  from  his  chair  to  his  knees  upon 
the  rug  beside  her.  He  took  her  hand  between  both 
his  own.  To  Strachan  the  sight  was  almost  intoler- 
able. But  he  put  strong  constraint  upon  himself  and 
remained  calm. 

"Now  I  am  not  quite  so  frightened,"  said  Charis, 
smiling  wanly.  "But  still  I  feel  very  nervous.  To 
begin  with,  you — the  man  I  have  promised  to  marry 
— don't  even  know  my  name !  I  have  been  passing 


232       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

all  this  time  under  an  assumed  one  .  .  .  and  it  is 
my  real  name  which  I  am  afraid  to  tell  you — afraid 

it  will  vex  you,  for  I " 

So  far  she  had  proceeded  when  a  very  emphatic 
knocking  at  the  door  broke  in  upon  her  difficult 
words. 


CHAPTER  XXV 

EXIT   MISS   GARTH 

UPON  Strachan's  summons  to  enter,  the  door 
opened  halfway,  and  the  face  of  Sheila  Varick 
was  seen.  Its  expression  showed  that  her  errand 
was  urgent.  She  came  quite  in,  closing  the  door 
behind  her,  before  she  said: 

"Forgive  me,  but  Miss  Garth  is  wanted  at  once. 
Her  father  has  called  to  fetch  her,  and  he  says  I 
am  to  let  her  know  that  it  is  a  matter  of  life  and 
death." 

Charis  leapt  to  her  feet.  Her  half  terrified,  half 
mischievous  sense  of  the  probable  effect  of  the 
revelation  she  was  about  to  make  was  merged  in 
the  shock  of  these  words.  She  turned  white  as  she 
faced  the  messenger. 

"Dad!"  she  breathed.  "Dad  has  come  to  fetch 
me !  Oh,  it  must  be  awfully»serious  1"  For  a  mo- 
ment she  seemed  stupefied,  and  her  hand  went  out 
towards  Gilbert. 

"But  perhaps  he  could  wait  five  minutes.  I'll  go 
and  find  out  exactly  what  it  is  he  wants." 

"He  wants  you,  my  dear.  He  has  come  to  fetch 
you  home  at  once — this  instant,"  said  Sheila  gravely. 
"He  is  waiting  at  the  door  with  the  car;  he  would 
not  even  come  inside  the  hotel  lest  he  might  be 

233 


234       The  Judgment  of  Chads 

delayed.  He  asked  me  to  tell  you  not  to  wait  even 
to  fetch  anything  from  your  room — to  come  just  as 
you  are." 

Charis  was  still  wearing  her  hat.  Gilbert  picked 
up  her  coat  and  put  it  on  her.  He  also  had  turned 
very  pale,  but  he  said  nothing.  She  cried  brokenly : 

"Oh,  this  is  dreadful!  I  can't  think!  I  am  all 
in  a  maze!  Gilbert,  if  something  awful  has  hap- 
pened, I  can't — I  simply  can't  tell  him  about  us  now, 
can  I?  You  won't  think  me  a  coward?  You  will 
wait  here?  Ah,  you  will" — turning  with  vehemence 
to  Strachan — "you  will  please,  please  await  news 
from  me  here !  I  will  either  send  for  you  or  write 
or — or  perhaps  come  back.  Your  letters — Gilbert 
will  do  those  for  you." 

"Miss  Garth,  I  think  you  must  leave  Mr.  Strach- 
an's  letters  to  take  care  of  themselves,"  softly  said 
Mrs.  Varick,  clasping  the  girl's  hand.  "Be  advised, 
and  come  this  moment." 

Charis  seemed  still  to  hesitate,  but  Gilbert  took 
command.  He  laid  his  hand  upon  her  arm  above 
the  elbow,  gently  propelling  her  towards  the  door 
where  Sheila  stood  watching  them,  her  face  full  of 
compassion.  As  Charis  passed  the  glowering 
Strachan  she  paused,  flung  up  her  arms  round  his 
unbending  neck,  and  kissed  him  without  a  word. 
Then  she  let  her  lover  lead  her  from  the  room. 

As  they  passed  through  the  lounge  Doran  and 
Morrison  respectfully  shook  hands  and  Vee  kissed 
her.  Phyllis  had  subsided,  with  the  shock  of  the 
news  she  had  just  heard,  upon  a  distant  settee,  and 


Exit  Miss  Garth  235 

could  not  even  rally  sufficiently  to  make  any  kind  of 
obeisance  to  the  rising  sun. 

Just  outside  the  door  stood  a  big  grey  and  purple 
car  with  two  menservants  in  grey  liveries  with  purple 
facings.  Before  it,  strolling  impatiently  to  and  fro 
upon  the  gravel,  was  a  man  of  about  Strachan's  age, 
with  a  well-cut,  humorous  face,  whose  expression  at 
the  moment  was  that  of  profound  melancholy.  As 
he  saw  his  daughter  approach  he  turned,  and  the 
two  faced  each  other  for  a  moment  without  a  word. 
Then  Charis  descended  the  two  steps  which  divided 
them,  stood  a-tiptoe,  and  kissed  his  lordship  meekly. 

"I'm  not  ready,  Dad,  but  I'm  here,"  said  she  in 
a  crushed  voice.  "Please  let  me  present  you  to  Mr. 
Strachan  and  Mr.  Brown." 

Lord  Ringland  raised  his  hat  with  a  disarming 
and  courteous  gesture.  "Both  these  gentlemen  will 
pardon  me,"  said  he,  comprehending  both  in  the 
salute,  "when  they  know  that  my  wife  may  be  dead 
before  we  arrive  at  home.  My  daughter  and  I  will 
take  care  to  forward  all  proper  acknowledgments 
at  the  first  opportunity,"  he  added,  addressing 
Strachan.  "Come,  my  dear  girl " 

In  a  moment,  as  it  seemed,  Charis's  slight  form 
had  disappeared  into  the  grey  interior  of  the  car, 
her  father  had  followed,  the  chauffeur  had  touched 
some  magic  lever,  and  the  whole  equipage  vanished 
along  the  level  road  to  Pooley  Bridge,  leaving  be- 
hind them  an  empty-seeming  silence. 

After  watching  them  quite  out  of  sight,  Strachan 
turned  and  re-entered  the  hotel.  He  passed  slowly 


236       The  Judgment  of  Chans 

through  the  lounge,  and  as  he  went  there  was  that 
in  his  face  which  prevented  anyone  from  addressing 
him.  There  was  a  murmur  of  excitement  passing 
to  and  fro,  and  after  his  disappearance  the  talk  was 
lively. 

".  .  .  Never  understood  that  the  young  lady  in 
Mr.  Strachan's  party  was  Miss  Osbourne  .  .  . 
thought  they  called  her  Bath  or  Garth  .  .  .  the 
celebrated  Miss  Osbourne  .  .  .  declined  to  marry 
her  cousin,  didn't  she?  .  .  .  Yes,  you  know,  some- 
thing queer  about  the  entail — has  to  go  to  any  male 
descendant  if  there  is  one — to  a  daughter  only  on 
failure  of  all  males — and  Lord  Clement  is  heir-at- 
law,  his  elder  brother,  the  marquis,  waiving  his 
claim.  .  .  .  Didn't  get  on  with  her  stepmother 
.  .  .  rather  eccentric  girl  .  .  .  went  off  to  study 
life  at  first  hand  .  .  .  not  a  bad  tip  if  you  have 
Ringland  Castle  to  fall  back  upon  if  things  go  wrong 
...  it  seems  her  ladyship  is  ill  ...  wonder  what's 
the  matter?" 

The  millionaire  stalked  on,  above  the  groups  of 
tattlers,  along  the  corridor  to  his  own  bedroom.  He 
had  something  of  the  feeling  of  one  who  has  been 
soundly,  delightfully  asleep  in  a  train  and  awakens 
to  find  that  he  has  been  carried  on  past  his  station. 
The  whole  unsubstantiality  of  his  relations  with  his 
late  secretary  was  borne  in  upon  him  with  hateful 
suddenness. 

In  these  few  weeks  he  had  grown  to  be  com- 
pletely wrapped  up  in  her.  He  had  not  looked  be- 


Exit  Miss  Garth  237 

yond  the  present  moment.  She  was  his  delight,  his 
pastime,  his  interest,  his  object  in  life. 

Yes,  alas!  his  object  in  life.  And  now,  in  one 
second  of  time,  she  had  been  taken  away,  and  he 
foresaw  that  return  was  impossible. 

All  this  time  she  had  been  playing  with  him.  She 
had  made  an  excursion  -out  of  her  own  milieu.  It 
was  just  a  freak,  a  whim.  But  how  finely,  how  thor- 
oughly carried  out !  He  had  never  employed  a  girl 
who  worked  with  anything  like  the  conscientious 
intelligence,  the  diligent  application  of  Charis. 

In  his  ignorance  he  had  believed  himself  a  bene- 
factor. Insensibly  to  himself  he  had  begun  to  as- 
sume paternal  authority  over  her.  He  had  played 
with  schemes  of  adopting  her  legally  and  ensuring 
to  her  a  portion  of  his  great  wealth. 

Now,  one  after  the  other,  she  had  dealt  him  two 
shattering  blows.  First,  she  had  shown  him  how 
utterly  independent  of  him  was  her  heart  and  her 
desire,  and  then  her  very  physical  presence  was 
snatched  from  him. 

.  .  .  And  now,  what  could  come  of  this  latest 
entanglement?  .What  of  Gilbert  Brown's  fatuous 
thrusting  of  himself  into  the  situation? 

When  he  thought  of  the  view  her  father  would 
probably  *take  of -the  whole  matter  he  ground  his 
teeth.  It  would  be  hard  for  his  lordship  to  believe 
that  young  Brown  had  really  been  ignorant  of  his 
daughter's  identity.  His  wrath  against  the  young 
man  blazed  anew,  forming  a  kind  of  outlet  for  his 
miserable  sense  of  desolation  and  injury. 


238       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

Gaining  his  room  he  turned  the  key  upon  him- 
self, found  a  match  and  kindled  the  fire  which  was 
ready  laid.  Then  he  sat  down  beside  it  and  gazed 
drearily  from  his  window  out  upon  the  leaden  lake 
and  the  cold,  creeping  clouds  which  sulked  upon 
the  heights,  belying  the  fair  name  of  June. 

He  could  not  even  smoke,  so  smitten  was  he  with 
a  sense  of  utter  futility. 

Through  the  formless  future  his  mind  began  pres- 
ently to  grope,  for  he  must  decide  what  to  do  next. 
He  thought  he  would  wait  at  the  hotel  until  to- 
morrow, when  he  might  himself  go  in  his  car  to 
make  inquiries  at  the  castle  for  her  ladyship.  Then 
he  would  take  his  two  nieces  and  carry  them  to 
Fratton  Beck  to  pay  the  promised  visit  to  their  Aunt 
Nicholson.  Doran  could  continue  his  tour  with  his 
sister  and  Morrison  in  their  own  car,  and  Gilbert 
might  go  to  the  devil. 

Gilbert!  How  dared  he?  In  what  way  could 
the  sacrilegious  idea  have  entered  his  thick  head? 
A  cat  may  look  at  a  king,  but  a  Gilbert  Brown  may 
not  aspire  to  a  woman  like  Charis.  For  a  moment 
he  found  it  a  consoling  thought  that  he,  Strachan, 
had  been  able  from  the  first  to  perceive  the  out- 
standing quality  of  the  girl  he  had  befriended  in 
such  odd  circumstances. 

Lost  to  him  for  ever!  He  wrung  his  hands  in 
the  pain  of  the  thought.  He  was  indeed  a  Jonah, 
doomed  to  lose  everything  on  which  he  set  his 
heart.  As  once  he  had  said  to  Sheila,  he  had  the 
money — and  that  was  all. 


Exit  Miss  Garth  239 

Sheila  Varick!  At  the  thought  of  her  the  one 
ray  of  comfort  entered  his  mind.  He  had  seen 
her  eyes  as  she  came  to  take  his  ewe  lamb  from 
him,  and  they  were  full  of  comprehension  and  of 
pity.  She,  like  him,  had  given  her  heart  and  been 
bereft.  She  stood  in  a  different  category  from  these 
other  young  creatures  with  the  world  before  them. 

Someone  knocked  at  his  door,  then  tried  it. 

"Who's  there?"  he  growled. 

"I  am — Gilbert,  and  I  hope  you  will  let  me  in. 
I  want  to  say  something  of  importance." 

"Go  to  the "  began  Strachan  before  he  could 

control  himself,  and  the  reply  came  promptly : 

"Yes,  I  am  going  there  as  fast  as  you  could  de- 
sire. I  want  you  to  help  me." 

Strachan  stared,  angry  enough,  but  perhaps  a 
little  amazed  at  the  effrontery  of  the  man  he  had 
taken  for  a  clown.  Then  he  realised  that  in  his  pres- 
ent mood  it  would  be  a  relief  to  tell  Gilbert  exactly 
what  he  thought  of  him.  He  rose,  after  two  or 
three  denials,  and  admitted  him. 

Gil  came  in  with  that  same  new  air  of  poise  and 
assurance  which  had  descended  upon  him  when 
Charis  publicly  announced  their  engagement. 

"Sorry  to  be  a  nuisance,"  said  he  quietly,  "but  I 
want  to  try  and  make  you  see  that  there  is  really 
no  need  for  you  and  me  to  be  at  cross  purposes." 

"You  must  know,  without  my  repeating  it,"  broke 
in  Strachan  sourly,  "that  you  have  settled  yourself 
finally  where  I  am  concerned.  I  wish  to  have  noth- 
ing more  to  do  with  you." 


240       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

The  contemptuous  words  brought  a  dull  colour 
to  the  set  face,  but  the  young  man  answered  tem- 
perately. "I  don't  admit  the  justice  of  your  con- 
demnation of  me,"  he  said  unemotionally,  "but  I 
am  not  going  to  try  and  vindicate  myself,  if  that  is 
what  you  are  afraid  of.  What  I  am  here  to  ask 
is  that  you  should  help  me  to  deal  with  the  entirely 
new  position  created  by  our  knowledge  of  Miss 
Garth's  true  identity.  Naturally,  all  idea  of  a  mar- 
riage between  us  is  now  out  of  the  question.  I  should 
not  even  wish  it.  To  be  looked  down  upon  by  my 
wife's  family  would  be  to  me  detestable.  ...  By 
the  by,  did  you  know  that  both  Doran  and  Morri- 
son have  for  some  time  known  who  she  is?" 

Strachan  was  struck  by  this.  "Is  that  so?  Why 
did  they  give  no  hint?" 

"I  wonder  that  you  should  ask  that.  If  she  chose 
to  be  incognita,  was  it  for  them  to  give  her  away? 
Her  secret  was  her  own  business." 

Strachan  glanced  at  his  cousin  with  something 
like  respect.  Gilbert's  attitude  impressed  him,  angry 
though  he  was. 

"That's  so,  certainly,"  he  replied  reflectively.  "It 
was  your  sister  who  went  back  on  her." 

Gilbert  merely  shrugged  his  shoulders.  He  would 
not  voice  his  opinion  of  Phyllis's  mentality. 

"Well,  what  of  it  all?"  demanded  Strachan 
wearily  after  a  pause. 

"She  always  told  me  there  were  obstacles — ob- 
stacles which  I  could  not  see  and  she  could  not 
explain,"  went  on  Gilbert.  "You  heard  her  say  just 


Exit  Miss  Garth  241 

now  that  I  might  find  the  truth  harder  to  forgive 
than  if  I  discovered  anything  against  her  character. 
There  she  was  quite  right.  I  do.  I  have  to  own 
that.  I  resent  the  part  that  she  has  played.  I  re- 
sent her  coming  into  our  family,  sitting  in  the  worst 
place  at  table,  listening  to  my  poor  mother  spread- 
ing herself  about  the  best  society  in  Streatwood, 
laughing  in  her  sleeve  at  all  of  us.  ...  But  that's 
not  the  point.  We  have  to  face  the  fact  that  to- 
day, in  her  splendid  generosity,  she  gave  out,  in 
the  hearing  of  the  whole  party,  that  she  was  en- 
gaged to  me.  I  wonder  if  you  see  what  I  mean? 
As  far  as  I  am  concerned,  the  whole  situation  is 
changed,  because  I  now  know  what  I  did  not  know 
before.  But  from  her  point  of  view  nothing  is 
changed,  because  when  she  said  we  were  engaged 
she  knew  herself  to  be  Lord  Ringland's  daughter 
as  well  .as  she  knows  it  now.  It  follows  that  she 
will  think  she  ought  to  hold  to  her  word." 

He  paused.  Strachan  turned  it  over  in  his  mind. 
"Well,  what  then?"  he  said  at  last. 

"It  is  obvious  that  I  cannot  jilt  her.  It  lies  with 
her  and  not  with  me  to  break  off  an  engagement  she 
has  herself  announced.  Surely  it  will  occur  to  you 
that  it  would  be  much  easier  for  her  to  do  so  if  I 
were  to  clear  off  out  of  her  way?" 

Strachan's  attention  was  caught. 

"For  me  to  hang  about  here  must  embarrass  her 
cruelly.  I  know  well  enough,  better  than  you  can 
tell  me,  'that  I  never  ought  to  have  let  her  know 
what  I  felt.  But  do  me  the  justice  to  remember  that 


242       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

I  thought  I  was  in  love  with  a  girl  with  no  home  and 
no  money.  You  may  never  have  known  what  it  is 
to  love  all  at  once  with  a  force  that  drives  you  on 
as  if  you  were  a  straw;  if  you  have,  you  ought  to 
admit  that  what  I  have  done  was  more  a  blunder 
than  a  crime,  and  a  blunder  that  has  wrecked  me 
once  for  all." 

"I'm  sorry  for  you,"  his  cousin  conceded  rather 
grudgingly.     "But  what  do  you  want  me  to  do?" 

"I  want  you  to  take  back  what  you  said  to  me 
this  morning  about  withdrawing  the  offer  you  had 
made  me.  I  want  you  to  send  me  to  Canada,  as 
you  promised.  George,  for  God's  sake,  help  me ! 
If  I  can  get  away — right  away — it  may  just  save 
me  from  going  mad,  and  at  the  same  time  it  will 
relieve  her  of  the  consequences  of  her  mistake.  She 
knew  it  was  my  intention  to  go,  and  she  knew  it  was 
urgent  for  me  to  go  at  once.  She  won't  think  I 
am  bolting,  and — and  she  will  have  time  to  reflect 
•what  a  foolish  girl  she  has  been  .  .  .  and  then,  of 
course,  she  will  forget.  For  she  doesn't  love  me 
— how  should  she?  She  was  only  moved  by  the 
depth  of  my  love  for  her.  ...  I  tell  you,"  he  cried 
with  sudden  vehemence,  "if  I  thought  otherwise,  if 
I  knew  she  loved  me,  her  grand  relations  and  your 
money  might  go  to  the  devil,  and  I  would  stand  by 
her  and  take  her  and  support  her  somehow  I  .  .  . 
But  she  doesn't  love  me  really.  .  .  .  And  so  after 
a  bit  she'll  be  grateful  to  me  for — shall  we  say 
spreading  my  one  cloak  in  the  dirt  so  that  she  may 


Exit  Miss  Garth  243 

walk  dry-shod  over  the  little  muddy  place  in  her 
clean  life?" 

As  he  listened  to  this  appeal  Strachan  knew  that 
he  was  unexpectedly  moved.  As  his  cousin  spoke 
there  even  came  to  him  a  glimpse  of  perception  as  to 
what  moved  Charis  to  consent  to  this  man's  wooing. 

When  the  deep,  reluctant  voice  faltered  into 
silence  the  millionaire  stood  up.  He  held  out  his 
hand. 

"Gil,  I  reckon  I  have  misjudged  you.  I  am  free 
to  own  it.  I  take  back  most  of  what  I  said  this  morn- 
ing. You  go  to  Ontario  at  once  as  my  representa- 
tive." 

Gilbert  caught  the  hand  as  though  it  had  been 
a  life-line. 

"You  are  a  good  sort.  Somehow  I  thought  I 
could  make  you  understand.  I  gather  that  you  will 
let  the  whole  arrangement  remain  as  we  planned  it 
the  day  before  yesterday — the  car  may  run  me  over 
to  Penrith  at  once  to  catch  the  London  express? 
Then  I  shan't  have  to  face  them  all  downstairs  .  .  . 
and  I  can  write  to — Miss  Osbourne — from  Lon- 
don." 

"Give  your  own  orders,  Gil.  She  was  right  all 
along.  She  told  me  from  the  first  to  put  my  money 
on  you,  and  I  will." 


CHAPTER  XXVI 

BERTALDA'S  ACCIDENT 

IN  the  car  the  father  and  daughter,  as  soon  as 
they  were  out  of  sight  of  other  people,  fell  into 
each  other's  arms.  Charis  was  overwrought,  tired, 
excited,  torn  with  doubts.  She  burst  into  tears,  and 
for  a  few  minutes  sobbed  her  heart  out  against  his 
lordship's  rough  frieze  coat. 

He  is  to  be  pardoned  if  he  believed  that  this  dis- 
play of  emotion  was  entirely  the  result  of  the  re- 
turn of  the  Prodigal  Daughter,  and  in  a  few  min- 
utes she  had  pulled  herself  together  to  the  extent  of 
gasping  out  a  desire  to  know  what  was  the  trouble 
at  home. 

"Bertalda,"  he  told  her  with  a  curious  effect  of 
nervousness.  "Poor  child  I  Poor  child  !  I  feel  like 
a  murderer!" 

"You,  Dad!    Why,  what  have  you  done  to  her?" 
He  cleared  his  throat  and  did  not  reply  directly. 
"She  —  she  has  had  an  accident,"  he  stammered. 
"An  accident?    Your  fault?    Motoring?" 
"No,  no.     Merely  the  result  of  her  pernicious 
habit  of  wearing  those  terribly  high  heels  on  our 
slippery  oaken  stairs.    She  fell  downstairs  this  morn- 
ing —  running  to  hear  what  news  Clem  brought  back 


244 


Bertalda's  Accident  245 

"Fell  downstairs?    And  is  she  much  hurt?" 

"She  is  exceedingly  ill.  Dr.  Frost  is  in  attend- 
ance, there  is  one  nurse  already  in  the  house,  and  I 
have  wired  for  another.  I  have  left  Frost  with 
full  discretion  to  telephone  for  a  surgeon — they 
think  an  operation  may  be  necessary,  but  cannot  tell 
as  yet.  Anyway,  they  told  me  nothing  could  happen 
for  several  hours,  and  advised  me  to  go  and  fetch 
you."  He  ran  his  long,  sensitive  fingers  up  through 
his  hair.  "I  felt  I  simply  couldn't  face  things  with- 
out you,  Cissie." 

"Oh,  Dad!  Poor  Dad!"  Miss  Osbourne  clutched 
at  him.  "I  am  a  selfish  pig!  I  hate  myself!  I 
never  should  have  left  you.  I  certainly  didn't  think 
it  would  be  for  so  long.  You  know,  old  thing,  if  you 
had  written  and  said  that  the  Orsovers  were  finally 
choked  off  and  Clem  had  agreed  to  behave  rationally 
I  would  have  come  home  like  a  shot!" 

"I  am  aware  of  it,  my  daughter.  The  difficulty 
all  along  has  been  Clem  himself.  You  see,  the  poor 
wretch  is  really  in  love  with  you — that's  the  trouble. 
It  isn't  a  question  of  the  property.  Your  Aunt 
Eleanor  says  you  are  the  only  hope  for  him — that 
without  you  he  would  go  all  to  pieces.  You  may  not 
credit  it,  Cis,  but  she  did  actually  go  on  her  knees 
to  me  in  the  library,  begging  me  to  wait  until  you 
had  tasted  hardship  and  loneliness  long  enough  to 
be  glad  to  come  back  home  on  any  terms.  She  has 
all  along  maintained  that  it  was  only  a  lover's 
quarrel " 

"But,  Dad,  you  knew  better  than  that!" 


246       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"Not  for  certain.  Not  until  Clem  showed  me 
your  last  letter  to  him.  Then  I  knew.  I  told  him 
it  was  all  over.  Whereupon  he  fell  into  such  a  state 
of  mind  that  poor  Bertie  insisted  upon  keeping  him 
at  Ringland  lest  he  should  go  and  do  something 
foolish.  Most  superfluous.  Clem  isn't  that  sort, 
as  I  told  her.  But  there  were  reasons  that  made 
her  feel  sorry  for  him  ...  so  he  stayed  on  with 


us." 


"And  you  were  bored  stiff.    Don't  fib  now." 

"I  fear  he  does  bore  me,  Cissie.  No  denying  it. 
One  day  Bertie  had  her  pony-carriage  down  in  the 
village,  and  Mrs.  Hunter,  the  doctor's  wife,  came 
up  to  her,  said  her  daughter  had  seen  you  in  a  motor 
accident — at  least,  she  could  have  sworn  it  was  you, 
but  you  denied  it.  Bertie  came  home  with  this  story, 
and  after  that  there  was  no  holding  Clem.  He  was 
in  a  fury,  and  vowed  he  would  make  one  final  at- 
tempt to  get  you  to  hear  reason,  and  if  it  failed  he 
would  drop  the  whole  thing. 

"So  he  went  off  this  morning  and  returned  about 
lunch-time.  Bertalda  was  so  anxious  to  know  how 
he  had  sped  that  she  came  running  out  of  her  room, 
caught  her  foot,  as  I  have  told  you,  and  fell  a  whole 
flight." 

His  voice,  as  he  gave  this  information,  was  full 
of  agitation  which  he  could  not  conceal.  Removing 
his  hat,  he  wiped  drops  from  his  brow. 

"I  packed  him  off,"  he  went  on  harshly.  "I  had 
had  about  enough  of  him — he  had  done  more  than 
enough  harm  to  me  and  mine.  He  went  off  to  the 


Bertalda's  Accident  247 

station  there  and  then,  and  the  car  brought  back 
the  doctor.  So  you  need  not  be  afraid  of  finding 
Clem  at  home  when  we  arrive;  and  I  wish  to 
Heaven  this  fool  would  drive  faster." 

He  leaned  from  the  open  window  into  the  rain, 
which  was  now  falling  fast,  and  called  to  the  chauf- 
feur to  increase  his  pace.  The  car  was  negotiating 
a  narrow,  winding  road — one  that  leads  from 
Pooley  across  the  hills  near  Lowther — and  to  obey 
was  rash,  but,  hearing  his  lordship's  tone,  the  man 
took  the  risk.  On  they  rushed  for  a  time  in  utter 
silence  while  Charis  marvelled  at  the  way  in  which 
she  had  underrated  her  father's  attachment  to  his 
wife. 

She  was  feeling — like  Bottom — translated.  Here, 
in  one  instant,  she  had  entered  a  world  wherein  all 
interests,  all  persons,  all  topics  of  conversation  were 
different.  Already  the  memory  of  yesterday  was 
growing,  not  less  distinct,  but  certainly  less  imme- 
diate. It  was  beginning  to  seem  more  distant. 

She  was  puzzled  about  Bertalda.  That  fine, 
healthy  young  woman !  It  seemed  odd  that  she 
should  have  been  so  fearfully  injured  simply  by  fall- 
ing down  a  flight  of  stairs.  And  why  should  Lord 
Ringland  consider  himself  responsible?  She  longed 
to  ask  for  more  details,  but  feared  to  torture  her 
father  with  questions.  Now  that  the  effort  of 
coming  to  fetch  her  was  past,  now  that  he  had  her 
beside  him  and  could  relax,  his  mind  flew  back  to 
its  devouring  anxiety,  its  immense  preoccupation. 
His  lips  were  dry;  and  when  he  sat  up  and,  as  if 


248       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

determined  to  show  his  self-control,  lit  a  cigarette, 
his  hand  shook. 

"And  what,"  he  demanded  after  a  long  silence, 
"and  what  have  you  been  doing,  Cissie?" 

"Mischief,"  she  replied  gloomily.  "Horribly  seri- 
ous mischief.  It's  no  joke,  Dad,  to  go  experiment- 
ing with  life.  I've  made  that  discovery  since  I  left 
you." 

"Then  your  adventures  will  not  have  been  wholly 
in  vain,"  was  the  dry  retort. 

She  leaned  against  him.  "Dear  old  man,  cheer 
up.  I  know  we  shall  find  things  better  when  we 
reach  home.  It  was  a  strain  for  you  to  come  away 
in  the  midst  of  it  all." 

"The  doctor  advised  it  ...  something  to  do 
.  .  .  one  could  only  wait  and  go  mad." 

Suddenly  he  snatched  her  into  his  arms,  holding 
her  fast.  "Little  girl,  I  would  have  cut  the  knot 
of  your  difficulty,"  he  muttered.  "I  took  a  tre- 
mendous responsibility,  and  it  seems  that  Providence 
has  decided  against  me." 

She  thought  he  would  have  said  more,  but  his 
voice  sank  under  the  stress  of  what  he  was  going 
through.  So  they  sat  silent  and  motionless  while 
the  car  swept  in  through  the  widely  flung  lodge 
gates,  where  the  lodge-keeper  peered  with  awed  in- 
terest for  the  return  of  the  Prodigal  Daughter,  and 
up  the  exquisitely  kept  avenue,  out  upon  the  wide 
sweep  of  gravel  bordered  with  shaven  lawns  and 
glowing  flower-beds. 

As   they  drew  up  before  the   great  doors   the 


Bertalda's  Accident  249 

elderly  butler,  his  face  darkly  flushed  with  excite- 
ment, ran  out  upon  the  marble  step  and  stood  wav- 
ing his  arms  with  a  total  forgetfulness  of  dignity 
and  decorum. 

"My  lord,  my  lord !"  he  cried  almost  before  they 
could  be  expected  to  hear.  "It's  all  over" — Charis 
turned  cold  and  shivered — "it's  all  over,  and  oh, 
praise  God,  it's  a  boy — a  son  and  heir,  my  lord!  A 
son  and  heirl" 


CHAPTER  XXVII 

ALTERED   CIRCUMSTANCES 

LORD  RINGLAND  stood  a  moment  rigid, 
poised  between  extremity  of  joy  and  the 
horror  of  an  awful  thought.  He  turned  so  pale  that 
his  daughter  thought  he  was  going  to  faint.  He 
laid  his  thin,  fine-drawn  hand  upon  the  sleeve  of  his 
old  servant's  coat. 

"Her  ladyship,"  he  managed  to  say;  but  his  voice 
was  a  mere  whisper. 

"Her  ladyship  has  come  through,  my  lord,  and 
Maddermosell  tells  me  the  doctors  are  very  hope- 
ful. She's  that  delighted,  they  say,  it  just  makes 
all  the  difference  to  her  chances — in  fact,  my  lord, 
as  I  said,  there's  every  hope." 

"And  the  child  .  .  .  healthy?" 

"As  fine  a  boy  as  was  ever  seen,  so  they  tell  me 
and" — the  old  man's  voice  was  husky — "I  heard 
him  myself  kicking  up  enough  noise  for  two " 

Ringland  shared  the  quivering  smile  upon 
Wright's  face.  For  a  minute  or  two  the  pair,  who 
had  lived  in  the  same  house  for  so  many  years,  stood 
locked  in  the  bonds  of  a  silent  sympathy.  Then 
Ringland  drew  a  long  breath,  passed  his  finger  over 
his  hot  brow,  and  turned  to  face  his  daughter  with 
an  air  of  confusion  which  she  found  delightfully 
amusing. 

250 


Altered  Circumstances         251 

"Oh,  Dad,  how  clever  you  have  been — you  and 
Bertie!"  she  cried,  running  to  hug  him.  "I  never 
had  the  teeniest  suspicion  of  what  has  been  going 
on!  Congratulations,  darling,  from  my  heart!  My 
little  brother!  How  wonderful  that  sounds — my 
little  brother!  Isn't  it  splendid,  Wright?" 

"It's  almost  as  good  to  see  you  back  here,  Missie, 
if  I  may  venture  to  say  so — where  you  ought  to  be," 
replied  the  butler  half  reproachfully,  half  fondly,  as 
he  preceded  his  master  into  the  low,  spacious  hall 
with  its  Tudor  pargeted  ceiling  and  massive  beams. 

"Cheek!"  cried  Miss  Osbourne,  pretending  to 
shake  a  fist  at  Wright,  "but  I  won't  box  your  ears 
now,  I  am  too  full  of  excitement.  A  son  and  heir! 
It  doesn't  seem  possible !" 

She  saw  her  father  lift  his  head  and  flash  a  glance 
about  him  as  though  he  now  saw  his  own  posses- 
sions for  the  first  time.  His  eye  was  full  of  a  new 
fire.  "How  long  ago?"  he  inquired  in  a  hushed 
voice. 

"Not  more  than  a  quarter  of  an  hour,  my  lord. 
Maddermosell  said  by  the  time  you  and  Miss  Os- 
bourne had  taken  a  cup  of  tea  the  doctors  would  be 
ready  to  talk  to  you." 

The  new-made  father  glanced  hungrily  up  the 
stair.  "I  mustn't  see  her  ladyship  yet,  I  suppose?" 

"Not  at  present,  I  gather,  my  lord.  You  see,  it 
has  been,  as  you  might  say,  touch  and  go;  but  my 
own  opinion  is  that  my  lady  is  much  stronger  than 
the  doctors  give  her  credit  for,  and  that  she'll  make 


252       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

a  fine  rally.  After  all,  it's  not  more  than  a  week  too 
soon,"  added  the  old  man  deprecatingly. 

Ringland  stood  there  in  a  dream,  hesitating,  wist- 
ful, forgetful  for  the  very  first  time  since  her  birth, 
of  his  cherished  daughter's  presence  at  his  side. 

"But  surely  I  may  see  the  youngster?" 

"By  the  time  you've  had  some  tea,  my  lord,  nurse 
will  have  dressed  him." 

Charis  felt  tears  well  up  to  her  eyes.  They  were 
not  evoked  by  jealousy.  Rather  was  it  a  vast  sym- 
pathy which  she  felt.  It  was  to  her  own  surprise 
that  she  found  she  could  enter  into  her  father's  feel- 
ings. How  hard  and  unsympathetic  she  had  been 
wont  to  show  herself  in  those  old  days  when  she  was 
the  apple  of  his  eye !  How  selfishly  she  had  left  him, 
not  once  so  much  as  considering  whether  he  would 
miss  her!  Now  all  her  outer  crust  of  hardness 
seemed  melting  in  warm  and  unaccustomed  emotion. 
Yet  she  could  not  express  what  she  felt — she  was 
tongue-tied  because  dad  seemed  to  have  grown  sud- 
denly remote — a  new  man — the  father  of  a  son ! 

They  went  together  into  the  boudoir  which  was 
Bertalda's  own  special  room,  and  sat  down  before 
the  tea-tray.  Both  were  curiously  silent — the  man 
because  it  was  hard  for  him  to  digest  the  amazing 
delight  with  which  he  was  permeated — the  girl  be- 
cause she  was  feeling  battered,  exhausted,  as  a  result 
of  what  she  had  gone  through  during  the  past  forty- 
eight  hours — an  experience  of  which  her  father  was 
utterly  ignorant. 

It  was  not  until  he  had  eaten  and  drunk — Wright 


Altered  Circumstances         253 

told  her  he  had  had  nothing  since  breakfast — that 
he  leaned  back  contemplating  his  daughter,  who  sat 
curled  up  in  the  deep  cosiness  of  the  Chesterfield, 
with  Bertalda's  chow  snuggling  against  her. 

His  first  thought  was  of  triumph  at  having  lured 
the  wilful  girl  back  to  her  home.  His  next  was  a 
somewhat  marked  disapproval  of  her  general  ap- 
pearance. 

Charis  wore  the  frieze  suit  in  which  she  had  made 
the  ascent  on  the  previous  day,  and  it  bore  a  shrunken 
and  shrivelled  aspect,  having  suffered  from  the  rough 
and  ready  methods  of  drying  employed  at  the  Threl- 
keld  hostelry.  Her  hat  was  crooked,  her  hands  not 
particularly  clean,  her  hair  decidedly  rough. 

"Oh,  Chu  Chin,"  said  she,  squeezing  the  little 
dog  playfully,  "your  nose  will  be  out  of  joint  now 
with  a  vengeance!" 

Her  father  started.  Talk  of  noses  being  out  of 
joint  made  him  a  trifle  uncomfortable. 

"Cissie,"  he  said,  "I  fear  this  has  been  sprung 
upon  you  somewhat  unmercifully.  Have  you  thought 
what  this — this  event — means  to  you?" 

"I  should  just  think  I  have  I"  she  responded  gaily. 
"It  is  my  salvation!  Good-bye  to  Clem's  worrying, 
and  greeting  to  my  freedom!" 

"Hardly  just  of  you,  Cis.  Clem's  in  love  with 
you  all  right." 

"But,  most  fortunately  for  me,  Clem's  mamma  is 
not.  Quite  the  contrary  in  fact.  It  is  she  who  has 
been  egging  him  on  all  this  time;  and  when  she  hears 
the  news — which  you  must  send  her  at  once — she 


254       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

will  call  off  the  hunt  with  all  possible  dispatch  and 
keep  her  boy  at  home  until  she  has  selected  another 
heiress  for  him.  Oh,  I  assure  you,  with  Aunt  Au- 
gusta as  my  ally  instead  of  my  opponent,  I  have  no 
fears  at  all." 

His  lordship's  face  fell.  "I'm  sorry  for  Augusta. 
She's  very  hard  up ;  and  so  am  I,  as  you  know,  Cis. 
That's  the  rub.  I  shall  be  obliged  to  make  a  new 
will  to-morrow,  and  with  what  I  must  leave  the  boy, 
to  enable  him  to  carry  on,  you  won't  be  much  of  a 
match." 

"Which  seems  to  show  my  wisdom  in  turning  out 
to  earn  my  own  living,  and,  what's  more, — 'making 
good'!  Why,  I'm  independent!  Do  you  know  I 
am  earning  twenty  pounds  a  month,  with  board  and 
lodging  thrown  in?  Some  job,  don't  you  think?" 
She  lowered  her  lashes  naughtily,  eyeing  him  from 
beneath.  "I'll  confide  something  else  to  your 
puissant  lordship.  I  don't  believe  I  am  boasting 
when  I  say  that  at  this  moment  I  could  take  my  pick 
of  three  husbands,  concerning  two  of  whom  I  can 
assert  with  confidence  that  they  had  no  suspicion  at 
all  of  my  identity." 

Her  father  turned  his  fine,  tired  eyes  upon  the 
dishevelled  young  person  curled  up  on  the  pale  bro- 
cade cushions,  with  her  mud-stained  boots  hanging 
just  over  the  edge. 

"You  surprise  me,  Miss  Osbourne,"  he  remarked 
with  irony,  "that  is,  if  you  have  been  accustomed  to 
go  about  among  them  in  the  guise  you  are  now  wear- 
ing. Bertie  would  have  a  fit  if  she  could  see  you." 


Altered  Circumstances         255 

Charis  sat  up  and  instinctively  pushed  her  hat  a 
little  straighten.  The  colour  flew  to  her  cheeks,  and 
she  laughed  as  if  abashed.  Rising  slowly  she  went 
to  a  Venetian  mirror  and  contemplated  herself  for 
some  minutes  without  speaking. 

"Well!"  said  she  at  last,  "I  am  indeed  a  sight 
for  the  gods !  I  shall  have  to  get  Bertie's  Fifine  to 
take  pity  on  me.  However,  this  puts  the  coping- 
stone  upon  my  triumph !  In  just  these  habiliments, 
they  being  at  the  time  soaked  with  rain,  I  was  not 
only  wooed,  but  most  ardently  wooed — when  was 
it?  Yesterday  evening?  Is  that  possible?  No 
longer  ago  than  that?" 

For  a  long  minute  she  stood  staring  at  her  reflec- 
tion with  a  curious  expression.  She  saw  nothing 
that  her  outward  eyes  beheld.  She  was  in  a  small 
dingy  inn  parlour,  with  a  horsehair  sofa,  upon  which 
she  sat,  while  a  man,  disproportionately  big  for  the 
room,  paced  to  and  fro.  There  was  emotion  wash- 
ing like  a  high  tide  about  her,  sweeping  her  away 
.  .  .  and  then  there  was  actual  submersion,  while 
for  the  first  time  a  man's  strong  mouth  met  hers, 
and  for  the  first  time  she  sensed  the  power  of  the 
force  she  had  called  up  and  now  was  powerless  to 
subdue. 

With  fatal  clearness  there  rose  before  her  the 
wonder  of  the  man's  renunciation.  With  his  pas- 
sion at  mid-flow,  with  her  words  of  consent  in  his 
ears,  he  had  felt  the  unspoken  rebellion  in  her  and 
answered  its  demand.  He  had  as  it  were  caught 
himself  by  the  throat,  wrestled  with,  and  thrown 


256       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

himself  .  .  .  yes,  thrown  himself  ...  at  her  feet  I 
The  grandeur  of  it  shook  her.  Her  lip  went  down 
like  a  child's.  Her  exhaustion  was  about  to  culmi- 
nate in  a  burst  of  tears  when  her  father's  frigid  tones 
brought  her  sharply  out  of  her  dream. 

"So  I  have  snatched  you  away  from  an  atmos- 
phere of  courtship,  have  I?  May  I  ask  who  did 
you  the  honour  to  woo  you,  as  you  tell  me,  yester- 
day?" 

She  answered  in  cut-and-dried  tones.  "His  name 
is  Brown — Cranstoun-Brown.  I  believe  he's  a  clerk 
in  his  father's  office.  Something  to  do  with  leather, 
I  think." 

Lord  Ringland,  in  the  act  of  lighting  his  cigar, 
faced  round  and  eyed  her  in  polite  wonder.  "Really, 
Charis,"  he  began;  and  then,  just  as  her  lips  were 
opening  to  cry  out — "Not  now,  I  can't  bear  any 
more" — Wright  opened  the  door  with  a  beaming 
face  and  ushered  in  the  doctors,  giving  her  the 
chance  she  craved,  to  spring  up  and  hasten  from  the 
room,  to  summon  some  maid  to  her  assistance  and 
rummage  out  a  frock  in  which  she  would  not  so 
obtrusively  challenge  her  father's  criticism. 

Hardly  had  she  gained  the  stair-head  when  she 
encountered  Mrs.  Wishart,  the  portly  Scotch  house- 
keeper, who  seemed,  like  every  one  else,  to  wear  a 
smile  which  spread  from  ear  to  ear,  but  accomplished 
the  feat  of  growing  even  wider  as  her  eyes  fell  upon 
the  daughter  of  the  house. 

It  was  good  to  be  greeted  with  loving  fervour, 
although  the  greeting  was  an  under-the-breath, 


Altered  Circumstances         257 

some-one-is-ill  kind  of  affair;  and  then  Mrs.  Wishart, 
creeping  on  silent  feet  and  with  beckoning  finger, 
pushed  open  a  chink  of  door  and  slunk  round  a 
screen. 

Followed  a  whispered  colloquy  between  her  and 
a  strange  nurse,  rounded  off  by  a  tiny  wail,  indica- 
tive of  the  mild  disgust  of  the  infant  peer  at  the 
world  in  which  he  had  been  somewhat  precipitately 
landed.  Then  Mrs.  Wishart  put  her  head  round 
the  screen. 

"Yes,  Miss  Osbourne,  lovie,  nurse  says  come  in, 
only  don't  make  the  leastest  noise." 

And  there,  in  the  course  of  the  next  few  wonder- 
ful seconds,  they  laid  in  her  proud  arms  the  heir  of 
her  line. 

"Oo-oo,"  she  cooed,  tremulous  and  choky,  "I 
never  saw  anything  so  young  before — so  new.  They 
said  new-born  babies  were  ugly.  Why,  he's  angelic 
— simply  angelic — how  is  my  p'ecious  baby  budder? 
Does  he  like  his  old  sissie?" 

She  was  cuddling  him  tenderly,  coaxing  the  downy 
top  of  his  head  with  caressing  lips,  absorbed  in  the 
miracle  of  birth  as  though  it  were  a  thing  unheard 
of. 

"Miss  Osbourne  makes  a  good  nurse,  doesn't 
she?"  whispered  one  smiling  onlooker  to  the  other. 
"And " 

"Time  you  had  one  of  your  own,  dearie,"  put  in 
the  housekeeper,  jealous  for  the  first-born  of  the 
house. 

"Mrs.  Wish,  you're  a  shameless  old  thing,"  was 


258       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

Charis's  mock-furious  retort;  but  as  she  stumbled 
out  of  that  room  and  hastened  along  the  corridor 
to  her  own,  her  eyes  were  streaming  with  helpless 
tears. 

"The 'last  time  I  cried  was  when  mother  died," 
she  told  herself  angrily.  "I've  done  enough  weep- 
ing in  the  course  of  this  afternoon  to  last  me  the 
rest  of  my  natural  life,  I  should  say." 

But  she  had  by  no  means  done  with  tears  that 
day. 

As  time  wore  on  the  dull  ache  at  her  heart  grew 
sharper  and  more  insurgent.  Her  mind  was  drawn, 
as  though  somewhere  in  the  distance  a  magnet  were 
pulling  at  her,  to  the  thought  of  the  party  she  had 
left  at  Ullswater — a  few  miles  as  the  crow  flies,  but 
separated  as  it  seemed  by  all  the  gulfs  of  prejudice 
and  restriction.  .  .  .  Gilbert's  face  arose  before  her 
continually,  as  last  she  had  seen  it,  with  what  Brown- 
ing calls  a  "griped  jaw"  and  eyes  smouldering  with 
some  emotion  decidedly  more  pronounced  and  fiery 
than  mere  regret  .  .  .  something  she  could  not  in- 
terpret to  her  own  satisfaction. 

Naturally  enough,  her  father  did  not  at  once  re- 
vert to  her  disclosure  of  her  love  affairs.  His  whole 
mind  was  saturated  with  his  happiness,  and  the  posi- 
tion of  his  finances  gave  him  serious  occupation.  His 
mind  was  a-simmer  with  a  hundred  schemes  with 
regard  to  the  new  dispositions  he  must  make  of  his 
property  when  his  lawyer  came  out  from  Appleby. 
His  head  buzzed  with  plans  and  designs,  for  he  was 
determinecTto  set  aside  enough  every  year  to  enable 


Altered  Circumstances         259 

his  son  to  live  without  anxiety,  and  to  nurse  the 
property  during  as  much  of  the  long  minority  as 
he  might  be  spared  to  see.  Upon  these  subjects  he 
enlarged  with  the  daughter  who  had  always  been 
his  close  companion;  but  ever  like  a  refrain,  there 
broke  into  his  discourse  a  little  song  of  praise  of 
Bertalda,  the  wife  who  had  given  him  a  son. 

Quite  early  in  the  evening,  Charis  had  had  as 
much  of  it  as  she  could  stand  and  slipped  away  to 
soak  her  pillow  with  salt  drops.  She  ascribed  much 
of  her  depression  to  the  fact  that,  dearly  as  she  was 
prepared  to  love  her  brother,  she  yet  was  not  quite 
free  from  the  "nose-out-of-joint"  pain,  which  is  a 
gnawing  and  detestable  sensation;  but  she  knew  this 
was  not  all.  There  was  a  cry  in  her  heart  to  which 
she  would  not  listen. 

Upon  gaining  her  own  room  she  had  found,  to 
her  joy,  that  her  own  maid,  Flora,  had  not  been  dis- 
missed, but  retained  by  Mrs.  Wishart  in  some  other 
capacity  in  the  household  in  view  of  the  general  be- 
lief that  Miss  Osbourne  would  certainly  return  home 
just  when  they  least  expected  her. 

Flora's  only  fault  had  been  that  (prompted  doubt- 
less by  the  receipt  of  sundry  half-sovereigns)  she 
had  always  been  a  strong  advocate  of  the  Osbourne- 
Vyner  match. 

She  was  now  bursting  with  the  desire  to  give  her 
mistress  all  the  latest  news  of  what  Lord  Clement 
had  said  and  done,  and  was  vexed  at  the  decision 
with  which  the  subject  was  forbidden. 

"Mark  my  words,"  said  the  maid  the  following 


260       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

night,  when  she  was  sitting  (by  special  invitation) 
in  Mrs.  Wishart's  room,  busy  with  renovations  and 
alterations  for  her  mistress,  "Miss  Osbourne's  as 
likely  as  not  to  veer  round  now  that  the  money  ques- 
tion isn't  in  it.  She's  romantic,  I've  always  said  so, 
and  she  couldn't  bear  the  idea  of  going  with  the 
property.  But  now  his  poor  young  lordship's  down 
and  out,  she'll  think  of  him  very  different — see  if  she 
don't." 

"And  then,"  said  Mrs.  Wishart  wisely,  "the 
Marchioness,  his  Ma,  will  put  her  foot  down." 

"If  she  does  that'll  clinch  it,  and  Miss  Osbourne 
will  marry  him,  whether  or  no,"  eagerly  cut  in  Flora. 
"Marry  him  out  of  hand  she  would.  Shouldn't 
wonder  if  she  ran  off  and  got  married  on  the  sly. 
She'll  never  do  anything  like  anybody  else.  I'd  give 
something  to  know  where  she's  been  and  what  she's 
been  doing  all  this  while.  But  I  don't  suppose  we 
ever  shall." 

"D'you  think,"  asked  the  housekeeper  doubtfully 
— she  usually  kept  her  rule  of  never  discussing  the 
family,  but  present  events  had  upset  all  routine — 
"think  she's  likely  to  settle  down  at  home  here?" 

"If  you  ask  me,  no.  Not  she.  She's  in  a  queer 
mood.  Seemed  lively  enough,  but  her  pretty  eyes 
were  red  with  crying  when  I  was  dressing  her  yester- 
day evening,  and  this  morning  her  pillow  was 
damp." 

Mrs.  Wishart  pondered.  "A  hotel  you  say  they 
brought  her  away  from?" 

"Yes.    The  big  hotel  on  the  lake  at  Glenridding. 


Altered  Circumstances         261 

Well,  it's  a  rare  good  thing  his  lordship  took  the  law 
in  his  own  hands  and  went  and  brought  her  back. 
The  talk  there's  been  in  the  village  you'd  never  be- 
lieve. All  through  that  Mrs.  Hunter  that  was  in  the 
motor  accident  on  the  Kirkstone.  She  said  there 
was  a  tall  gentleman,  not  young,  but  very  distanguy, 
who  rushed  up  to  Miss  Osbourne  and  lifted  her  out 
of  the  car  in  his  arms.  His  face,  she  said,  was  the 
colour  of  chalk,  and  he  could  hardly  speak  for  what 
he  was  feeling." 

The  old  housekeeper  blinked  gravely.  "Seems 
funny,  don't  it?"  she  reflected  slowly.  "However, 
Miss  Osbourne  always  did  take  her  own  way  and  I 
suppose  she  always  will.  Wonder  if  we  shall  ever 
hear  any  more?  Anyways,  keep  a  still  tongue  in  the 
hall,  Flora,  my  girl." 

"Let  me  alone  for  that.  It's  to  be  hoped  you  can 
trust  me,  Mrs.  Wishart." 


CHAPTER   XXVIII 

A  CONFESSION 

LADY  RINGLAND  gave  no  cause  for  anxiety 
after  the  first  few  hours.  She  slept  all  night, 
the  sleep  of  the  utterly  content,  and  her  condition 
was  so  satisfactory,  that  upon  the  following  after- 
noon her  husband  was  admitted  to  see  her  as  she 
lay  there  smiling,  with  her  son  tucked  into  the  hollow 
of  her  arm. 

Almost  her  first  words  were:  "Poor  little  Cis 
will  be  glad,  won't  she?" 

Her  husband  thereupon  revealed  the  fact  that 
Charis  was  actually  in  the  house.  He  added  that 
there  could  be  no  doubt  of  her  pleasure,  and  that  she 
would  offer  her  congratulations  in  person  as  soon  as 
she  was  admitted  to  the  Presence. 

Charis  meanwhile  found  herself,  without  luggage, 
caught  in  the  toils  of  dressmaking  and  fitting. 
Flora's  horror  of  her  appearance  had  made  her 
think  her  father  mercifully  lenient;  and  she  sub- 
mitted to  the  maid's  demands  as  a  sort  of  expiation 
of  the  state  of  disrepair  in  which  she  had  made  her 
return,  "quite  on  the  lines  of  the  best  Prodigal  tra- 
ditions," she  remarked  to  herself. 

It  was  while  she  was  thus  occupied  that  Wright 
knocked  at  the  door  with  cards  upon  a  salver. 

262 


A  Confession  263 

They  were  Strachan's  cards,  and  she  gave  a  little 
gasp  as  she  took  them.  "Mr.  Strachan  is  here?" 

"No,  Miss,  Mr.  Strachan  would  not  come  in, 
although  I  ventured  to  say  I  knew  he  would  be  wel- 
come. He  merely  called  to  inquire  for  her  lady- 
ship and  for  yourself,  Miss;  and  to  leave  your  lug- 
gage." 

Charis  turned  white.     "Who  was  with  him?" 

"Two  ladies,  Miss;  or  it  might  be  three.  I  would 
not  be  sure.  But  two  or  three  ladies.  The  car  was 
closed  on  account  of  the  rain." 

"No — no  gentlemen?"  Her  voice  sounded  un- 
natural, even  to  herself,  and  she  knew  Flora  must  be 
pricking  her  ears. 

"Only  Mr.  Strachan  himself,  Miss.  You  will  see 
there  is  a  note  under  the  cards." 

There  was  quite  a  little  heap  of  cards — those  of 
all  the  party.  Beneath  lay  an  envelope,  addressed 
in  Strachan's  careful  hand. 

She  hardly  waited  for  Wright's  departure  before 
opening  it  hurriedly. 

Its  enclosure — a  cheque — stared  her  in  the  face. 
The  amount  was  far  larger  than  the  fortnight's  sal- 
ary owed  to  her.  The  covering  note  was  not  a  letter, 
it  had  neither  beginning  nor  end.  It  was  just  a 
message. 

"Have  learned,  much  to  my  displeasure,  from 
Phyllis  Brown,  that  she  is  in  your  debt  for  a  consid- 
erable sum,  which  she  is  apparently  unable  to  pay, 
in  spite  of  my  recent  present  to  her.  I  therefore 


264       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

enclose  it,  with  the  salary  owing  to  you,  and  add  my 
apologies  on  her  behalf.  We  leave  here  early  to- 
morrow morning  for  Fratton  Beck." 

That  was  all,  but  upon  the  envelope  were  a  few 
words,  evidently  scribbled  after  making  his  in- 
quiries at  the  door. 

"Hearty  congratulations  on  the  good  news.  Hope 
ner  ladyship  makes  a  fine  recovery." 

That  was  all.  She  stood  staring  at  the  written 
words  with  an  unpleasant  feeling  of  having  been  dis- 
missed without  notice.  Judging  it  necessary  to  say 
something  to  cover  the  sharp  smart  of  her  wounded 
vanity,  she  remarked:  "Well,  apparently,  they've 
brought  along  my  luggage,  Flora.  You'll  be  able  to 
find  some  things." 

"Yes,  Miss.  I  hear  it  being  carried  up  now,  I 
believe." 

Charis  let  the  charmeuse  frock,  full  of  pins,  glide 
to  her  feet,  and  stepped  out  of  it.  As  Flora  left  the 
room  to  superintend  the  depositing  of  the  trunks  in 
the  ante-room,  she  tried  to  face  the  future  so 
abruptly  brought  before  her  by  Strachan's  conduct. 
What  did  she  mean  to  do?  What  was  she  to  make 
of  her  life,  now  that  she  was  no  longer  her  father's 
heiress? 

With  a  sense  of  emptiness  and  loss  she  recalled 
Strachan's  offer — so  recently  made — to  take  her 
away — abroad — anywhere  she  chose  to  go — to  keep 


A  Confession  265 

her  safe  with  him  so  that  no  marriage  might  be 
forced  upon  her.  With  a  hideous  sinking  of  the 
heart  she  realised  that  all  that  was  over  now.  He 
knew  who  she  was.  She  could  never  go  back  upon 
the  former  terms. 

"Oh,  what  a  beast  I  am,"  she  muttered,  sinking, 
into  her  favourite  chair.  Up  till  that  moment  she 
had  been  conscious  of  a  vague  discomfort  where 
conscience  was  concerned.  Now  she  was  downright 
ashamed  of  herself.  She  had  set  herself  up  as  a 
judge  of  others.  She  had  judged  poor  dishonest 
Phyllis,  undisciplined  Vee,  Gilbert — yes,  even  Gil- 
bert! .  .  .  And  the  only  bright  spot  in  the  dark 
picture  was  that,  after  all,  she  had  been  right  in  each 
diagnosis. 

Now  the  tables  were  turned,  and  she  was  being 
judged  by  them.  What  sentence  would  Strachan 
pronounce  ?  She  thought  he  had  already  condemned 
her.  Kind  as  he  had  always  been,  she  was  well 
aware  that  he  was  not  an  indulgent  man.  He  had 
not  built  up  a  vast  business  on  sloppy  sentiment.  He 
was  clear-eyed,  just,  determined. 

No  doubt  his  affection  for  herself  would  consider- 
ably modify  his  view  of  the  matter.  But  there  was 
the  black  fact  that  she  had  come  to  him  under  false 
pretences.  She  had  been  at  play — experimenting 
with  life  and  work.  He  must  resent  this  deeply. 
His  message  seemed  to  her  to  express  his  disgust — 
to  emphasise  the  fact  of  his  having  washed  his  hands 
of  her. 

The  fact  that  they  were  going  on  to  Fratton  BecK 


266       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

sounded  as  though  the  tour  were  not  abandoned,  but 
was  being  carried  out  according  to  schedule.  What 
of  Gilbert?  After  his  sharp  quarrel  with  his  rich 
cousin — after  what  might  be  described  as  his  com- 
plete break  with  him,  on  her  account — he  could 
hardly  be  still  a  member  of  the  party. 

Where  was  he  then?  She  grew  suddenly  hot  all 
over  as  she  reflected  that  it  was  quite  possible  he 
might  turn  up  at  Ringland  and  demand  to  see  her. 
He  would  be  entirely  within  his  rights.  .  .  .  She 
had  no  intention  of  going  back  upon  her  word.  She 
had  announced  her  engagement  before  witnesses  and 
meant  to  stand  to  it.  She  now  saw  the  urgent  neces- 
sity of  preparing  her  father's  mind  before  the  ap- 
pearance of  her  betrothed.  Her  father  and  Gilbert 
Brown  I  It  was  hard  to  picture.  She  hated  herself 
for  her  discomfort,  but  she  could  not  shake  it  off. 

In  the  quiet  of  the  library  that  night,  after  dinner, 
she  introduced  the  subject. 

His  lordship  was  at  peace  with  all  the  world,  and 
comparatively  at  leisure  to  listen  to  his  daughter  and 
pay  a  certain  amount  of  attention  to  her  affairs.  To 
her  own  surprise  she  felt  suddenly  shaky  about  the 
knees  as  she  opened  the  ball  by  handing  him 
Strachan's  cards. 

"Strachan!"  said  he,  reading  the  name  with  some 
interest.  "Surely  that's  the  man  who  made  the 
munificent  gift  of  timber  to  the  Canadian  Govern- 
ment, isn't  it?" 

"Did  he?  I  never  heard  him  mention  it.  But 
he  would  not.  He  is  the  most  modest  of  men." 


A  Confession  267 

"If  this  is  the  man  I  am  thinking  of,  he  is  astound- 
ingly  wealthy.  Does  he  come  from  Ontario?" 

"Yes.  His  business  is  there,  though  he  has  big 
estates  in  the  Far  West." 

"Same  man,  no  doubt.  Was  it  he  who  proposed 
to  you?  If  so,  you  will  at  least  be  rich — but  no! 
You  spoke,  I  think,  of  a  young  clerk  ?  Some  laugh- 
able name." 

"But,  father,  you  mustn't  laugh  at  it,  because  it 
will  be  mine  some  day.  I  did  not  tell  you  yesterday 
because  you  were  so  preoccupied,  but  I  had  better 
make  my  insignificant  announcement  to-night.  I  am 
engaged  to  Gilbert  Cranstoun-Brown." 

Her  father  arched  his  eyebrows  and  broke  off  his 
cigar  ash  meditatively. 

"So?"  he  said;  "why  is  this?  Defiance  of  Clem 
—eh?" 

His  eyes  were  now  upon  her,  pretty  searchingly, 
and  he  saw  her  pallor. 

"It — it  was  partly  that,"  she  owned  in  a  low  voice. 
"Not  altogether,  though.  Somehow  he — he — isn't 
an  easy  man  to  say  'No'  to."  She  gave  a  little 
nervous  laugh,  unlike  herself.  Lord  Ringland's 
ironic  eyes  grew  more  serious. 

"Tell  me  something  about  him,  will  you,  Cis?" 

"About  himself — or  his  position  and  prospects?" 

"Perhaps  we  might  take  the  second  first,  shall 
we?" 

She  set  her  mouth  uncompromisingly.  "It  is  a 
case  of  snakes  in  Ireland,  Dad.  He  has  neither  posi- 
tion nor  prospects." 


268       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

There  was  a  just  perceptible  pause.  "His  age?'* 
questioned  his  lordship  softly. 

"About  thirty." 

"And  he  has  not  even  begun  to  build  up  a  career 
of  any  kind?" 

Her  answer  to  this  came  swiftly.  "His  country 
has  seen  to  that.  The  Government  helped  itself  to 
the  five  essential  years  of  his  life — the  years  that 
count !  When  he  had  done  all  a  man  could,  he  was 
pushed  out — no  further  use  for  him!  .  .  .  But  I 
must  tell  you  the  worst  of  it.  A  prospect — a  good 
one — an  admirable  one — had  just  opened  out  before 
him.  Through  me  he  has  lost  it." 

"How  so?" 

"Mr.  Strachan,  who  is  his  cousin,  is  also  a  child- 
less widower.  As  you  have  said,  he  is  fabulously 
wealthy.  He  had  just  arranged — influenced  a  good 
deal  by  me,  I  believe — to  take  Gilbert  into  his  busi- 
ness. He  was  to  sail  for  Canada  at  once.  And  I 
suppose  it  was  just  that — I  mean  the  strain  of  what 
he  was  feeling,  and  going  so  far  away  from  me — 
which  made  him  speak.  Remember,  he  thought  I 
was  just  a  typewriting  clerk — a  wage-earner.  And 
when  Mr.  Strachan  heard  of  the  engagement  he  was 
terribly  angry." 

"What  made  Strachan  so  angry?" 

She  hesitated.  She  could  hardly  own  that  she 
thought  it  was  jealousy.  "I — I  couldn't  quite  make 
out." 

"But  I  think  I  make  out  very  easily.     You  were 


A  Confession  269 

the  Becky  Sharp  of  the  drama.  You  first  induced 
old  Strachan  to  make  the  young  man  his  heir,  and 
then  annexed  him.  I  dislike  your  methods  myself, 
my  dear.  I  can  see  that  they  must  have  been  most 
displeasing  to  the  millionaire." 

This  was  a  new  idea  to  Charis  and  it  hit  her  hard. 
She  did  not  want  to  believe  it;  but  certainly  the  na- 
ture of  the  communication  she  had  that  day  received 
tallied  far  better  with  such  a  view  than  it  did  with 
the  more  flattering  one. 

"Well,"  she  owned  slowly,  "he  was  dreadfully  in- 
dignant, and  he  withdrew  his  offer  to  Gilbert  alto- 
gether." 

"You  seem  to  have  made  a  mess  of  things — eh, 
Cis?" 

"Yes.    An  utter  mess." 

"Of  course,  there  is  another  possible  reason. 
Strachan  may  have  been  jealous  of  the  younger 
man." 

"He  may.  But  he  is  not  like  that.  Not  a  bit 
petty,  nor  mean.  He  is  a  great  man.  I  want  you  to 
meet  him.  You  and  he  would  get  on,  I  am  certain." 

"Your  account  of  him  interests  me  ...  a  good 
deal  more  than  what  I  have  gathered  concerning  my 
future  son-in-law.  Can  you  tell  me  anything  of  the 
young  man's  personal  gifts?" 

His  fluent  daughter  remained  absolutely  mute. 
She  gazed  into  the  wood  fire  which  had  been  kindled 
for  them,  June  notwithstanding;  her  eyes  filled  and 
her  mouth  quivered. 


270       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"You're  not  going  to  tell  me  you're  in  love  with 
him,  Cis?" 

She  moved  suddenly,  putting  up  both  hands  to 
her  throat.  Then  she  covered  her  face.  UI  wish  1 
knew,"  she  managed  to  get  out. 

For  the  first  time,  her  father  looked  really  appre- 
hensive. 

"How  long  ago  did  your — engagement — take 
place?" 

"The  day  before  yesterday." 

"So  recently  as  that?  And  what  did  the  young 
man  do  when  Strachan  turned  him  down?" 

"How  should  I  know?  We  were  in  the  midst  of 
an  awful  scene  when  you  swept  in  and  carried  me 
off.  And  now,  of  course,  everything  will  be  differ- 
ent, because  they  have  found  out  who  I  am.  .  .  ." 

"And  what  difference  do  you  expect  that  to 
make?" 

"It  has  evidently  caused  Mr.  Strachan  to  assume 
that  my  post  as  his  secretary  is  vacant.  He  called 
to  inquire  this  afternoon  and  left  a  cheque  for  my 
salary."  She  could  not  keep  her  voice  from  break- 
ing, and  bit  her  lip. 

"And  that  hurts?    You  like  Strachan,  then?" 

"I  can't  tell  you  how  much." 

"But  you  are  not  sure  of  your  feeling  for  your 
affianced  husband?" 

"I  won't  answer  that  question  straight  out,  Dad. 
If  you  can  spare  the  time,  I  want  to  tell  you  the 
whole  of  my  adventures." 


A  Confession  271 

"My  independent  daughter,  during  the  past  year 
you  cannot  be  said  to  have  made  undue  claims  upon 
my  leisure.  I  am  entirely  at  your  service.  Confess 
away." 

Charis  began  at  first  with  hesitation,  but  by  de- 
grees, as  she  saw  him  interested,  with  more  con- 
fidence, to  unfold  her  story.  He  heard  all  about 
Strachan's  idea  that  she  should  study  the  characters 
of  his  possible  legatees,  and  her  acceptance  of  the 
post  without  telling  him  who  she  was.  He  also  heard 
the  story  of  the  tour,  the  motor  accident,  Phyllis 
and  the  unpaid  loan,  and  finally  of  the  Helvellyn 
adventure. 

He  gave  her  at  first  his  customary  half-humorous, 
half-serious  attention,  but  as  the  tale  progressed,  she 
could  see  that  he  was  being  forced  to  some  conclu- 
sion not  at  all  to  his  liking.  His  comments  ceased, 
his  brows  gathered. 

When  she  had  quite  done,  he  arose  from  his  seat 
and  stood  upon  the  hearthrug,  frowning  down  upon 
her.  His  unspoken  displeasure  caused  her  to  burst 
out  into  a  passionate  condemnation  of  Clem's  con- 
duct— of  his  disgraceful  persecution  and  the  false 
position  into  which  he  had  forced  her. 

"You  think  of  it  as  a  false  position?  One  from 
which  you  desire  to  escape?" 

She  did  not  reply,  for  she  was  swallowing  tears. 

"I  must  beg,"  said  his  lordship  in  measured  tones, 
"that  you  will  make  up  your  mind  on  the  point  with- 
out delay.  Because  I  hardly  see  how  you  are  to  get 
out  of  this  engagement,  except  in  a  way  unbecoming 


272        The  Judgment  of  Charis 

to  my  daughter.  Do  you  wish  to  be  alluded  to  as  a 
professional  jilt?  You  seem  to  have  made  your  bed 
pretty  awkwardly,  Cis.  But  I  fear  that  you  must 
lie  upon  it." 


CHAPTER   XXIX 

THE  JUDGE  IS  JUDGED 

THERE  was  little  sleep  for  Charis  that  night 
She  was  of  those  who  are  accustomed  to  see 
their  own  conduct  largely  in  the  light  of  other  peo- 
ple's opinion.  She  had  not  been  proud  of  herself, 
but  she  had  not  squarely  faced  the  position  until  her 
father's  words  had  fallen,  like  corrosive  acid,  upon 
her  sensitive  heart. 

He  disliked  her  methods.  He  had  no  doubt  of 
Strachan's  dislike  of  them  also. 

The  more  she  considered,  the  more  clear  it  seemed 
to  her  that  he  was  right.  What  other  explanation 
could  there  be  of  Strachan's  hurried  note,  his  half- 
contemptuous  enclosure  of  the  money  which  she 
could  not  refuse? 

These  thoughts  were  not  comfortable  bed-fel- 
lows, and  the  morning  found  her  so  weary  and  de- 
pressed that  she  gladly  accepted  Flora's  suggestion 
that  she  should  have  her  breakfast  in  bed;  the  more 
that  by  this  arrangement  she  would  be  spared  a 
meeting  with  her  father,  whom  she  knew  to  be  pro- 
foundly disturbed  and  dissatisfied  respecting  her 
engagement. 

The  difficulty  which  faced  her  was  her  complete 
uncertainty  as  to  what  she  ought  to  do  next.  If  Gil- 
bert failed  to  make  his  appearance  that  day — what 

273 


274        The  Judgment  of  Charis 

then  ?  Should  the  move  come  from  him  or  from  her 
family? 

Flora  re-entered  in  the  midst  of  her  perplexities, 
carrying  a  tray-load  of  good  things.  Tucked  into 
the  daintily  folded  fringed  napkin  was  a  letter. 
With  a  movement  of  the  heart  so  violent  as  to 
trouble  her,  she  recognised  the  square,  unduly  black 
handwriting  which  she  knew  to  be  Gilbert's — writing 
which,  as  she  once  told  him,  always  looked  as  though 
he  were  angry  with  his  pen. 

Here  was  solution  of  at  least  a  part  of  her  prob- 
lem. Gilbert  had  made  the  next  move.  He  had 
written,  and  she  had  an  absurd  desire  to  cry  with 
childish  happiness;  for  here  at  least  would  be  balm 
to  her  aching  vanity,  incense  for  her  neglected  shrine. 
Here  at  least  was  one  in  whose  eyes  she  could  do  no 
wrong — who  would  find  excuse  for  any  lapse,  even 
one  far  more  outrageous  than  anything  she  was 
conscious  of. 

It  seemed  as  though  Flora  would  never  leave  the 
room.  She  fussed  about  the  washstand,  refolded 
towels,  sorted  out  hairpins  at  the  toilet  table  and 
even  plumped  up  the  cushions  in  the  easy  chairs  be- 
fore withdrawing  to  the  next  room,  where  she  could 
be  heard  unpacking.  Charis  could  wait  no  longer. 
She  tore  open  the  envelope,  drew  forth  the  paper 
and  read: 

"Redmays,  Streatwood. 

"DEAR  Miss  GARTH, — These  few  words  are  by 
way  of  farewell.  I  sail  to-morrow  on  the  Escallonia, 


The  Judge  is  Judged          275 

and,  however  quickly  you  may  find  that  a  ridiculous 
episode  is  fading  from  your  memory,  it  yet  might 
seem  lacking  in  courtesy  (after  what  has  passed) 
should  I  depart  quite  without  leave-taking. 

"I  learn  with  satisfaction  from  George  Strachan 
that  the  birth  of  an  heir  to  your  father's  property 
sets  you  free  from  the  pressure  brought  to  bear  upon 
you  in  order  to  persuade  you  to  marry  Lord  Clem- 
ent Vyner ;  and  consequently  from  any  obligation  to 
hold  to  the  desperate  alternative  of  considering 
yourself  engaged  to  me. 

"You  must,  I  feel  sure,  have  derived  considerable 
amusement  and  experience  from  your  plucky  adven- 
ture into  the  nether  world.  We  seemed,  no  doubt, 
a  fearful  kind  of  wild-fowl  to  you.  'Our  manners 
have  not  that  repose  which  stamps  the  caste,'  etc. 

"But  I  can  and  will  spare  you  reproaches  or 
taunts.  I  will  merely  own  that,  as  you  foresaw,  I 
find  the  truth  harder  to  forgive  than  any  of  the 
contingencies  I  had  imagined. 

"In  spite  of  which  I  will  avow  myself, 
'Sincerely  yours, 
"GILBERT  CRANSTOUN-BROWN. 

"How  the  'Cranstoun'  must  have  tickled  your 
keen  sense  of  humour  1" 

Charis  felt  as  though  she  had  been  flayed  alive. 
With  a  gasp  she  fell  back  among  her  pillows,  shiver- 
ing, sick,  agonised.  Yet  she  knew  at  once  that  she 
ought  to  have  foreseen  just  this;  that  she  had,  as  a 


276        The  Judgment  of  Charis 

fact,  suspected  it,  though  she  would  not  admit  to  her- 
self the  nature  of  her  fears. 

What  next?    What  next? 

He  wrote  from  Streatwood.  He  was  sailing — 
when?  and  whither? 

Was  he  going  to  Ontario  after  all?  Had  Strachan 
and  he  been  reconciled  after  her  departure? 

She  guessed  that  this  must  be  so.  The  urgent 
point  was  to  decide  what  to  do.  And  first,  to  decide 
what  she  wished  to  do  in  the  matter.  She  took  up 
the  letter.  It  was  dated  with  the  man's  usual  preci- 
sion at  10  A.M.  on  the  morning  of  the  preceding 
day.  He  must,  then,  have  left  Ullswater  quite 
shortly  after  she  herself  had  done  so.  And  he  was 
sailing  at  the  present  moment — he  had  perhaps 
already  sailed. 

It  was  then,  at  that  actual  moment,  that  the  scales 
fell  finally  from  the  eyes  of  Charis  and  she  knew  her 
own  heart  at  last. 

It  was  Gilbert  ...  or  no  man. 

Her  mind,  however,  refused  to  act  at  once.  It 
seemed  to  be  whirling  about  in  futile  circles.  She 
felt  utterly  helpless  and  crushed  under  the  weight  of 
her  punishment.  The  thought  of  never  seeing  Gil 
again,  worse,  of  dragging  out  her  whole  future  life 
under  the  weight  of  his  scorn,  afflicted  her  even  to 
the  extent  of  vertigo.  She  was  obliged  to  lie  quite 
still,  both  hands  above  her  thumping  heart,  a  vague 
wonder  drifting  through  her  brain  as  to  whether 
this  meant  death. 

Slowly  she   rallied  from  the  numbing  force   of 


The  Judge  is  Judged          277 

the  blow,  and  by  degrees  breathed  more  freely, 
while  the  mists  cleared  and  the  tumult  of  her  heart 
subsided. 

A  weak  voice  called  for  Flora,  and  the  maid,  en- 
tering, stopped  short  in  horror. 

"Mercy,  Miss  Osbourne,  are  you  ill?" 

Charis  assented  without  words,  and  Flora  fled 
to  Mrs.  Wishart  for  sal  volatile. 

When  it  was  administered  her  colour  improved, 
but  still  she  lay  there  like  one  stricken,  and  Flora 
begged  to  know  if  she  had  had  bad  news. 

She  admitted  it.  "I'm  in  trouble,  serious  trouble," 
she  owned  tremulously.  "I  don't  know  what  to  do. 
Do  you  know  where  his  lordship  is,  Flora?" 

"His  lordship's  out  with  Hazelrigg,  Miss.  But 
hadn't  I  better  send  for  the  doctor?" 

This  suggestion  was  opposed  with  a  violent  nega- 
tive. In  fact,  it  so  roused  the  girl  as  to  pull  her  to- 
gether more  speedily  than  might  have  otherwise 
been  the  case.  She  had  heard  unexpected  news,  that 
was  all — so  she  explained  her  attack.  In  every  other 
respect  she  was  perfectly  well. 

Like  many  confirmed  country  dwellers,  Lord 
Ringland  was  an  early  riser.  He  always  breakfasted 
at  eight,  and  this  morning  he  was  off  with  his  agent, 
busy  inspecting,  calculating,  estimating — viewing  his 
property  entirely  from  the  standpoint  of  his  suc- 
cessor. Charis  knew  he  would  not  return  much  be- 
fore lunch.  Was  there  nothing  which  she  could  do? 

Her  thoughts  flew  to  Strachan — but  he  was  at 
Fratton  Beck,  in  the  most  remote  corner  of  Tees- 


278        The  Judgment  of  Charis 

dale,  and  she  did  not  know  where  to  send  a  tele- 
gram. A  wild  idea  of  sending  one  to  Redmays 
crossed  her  mind.  But  it  was  a  hundred  chances  to 
one  that  Gilbert  would  have  left  before  it  arrived; 
and  she  felt  very  sure  that  he  had  said  nothing  to 
his  mother  of  his  short-lived  engagement.  It  would 
be  worse  than  useless  to  telegraph  there.  Her  one 
hope  was  Strachan. 

When  she  faced  the  problem  of  what  to  say  to 
him,  however,  her  courage  sank.  Almost  anything 
would  be  easier  .  .  .  she  wondered  whether  the 
boat  sailed  from  Liverpool  or  Southampton.  Wild 
ideas  of  taking  the  car  and  rushing  thither  without 
delay  floated  through  her  mind.  She  had  the  sense, 
however,  to  send  for  the  Times,  and  ascertain  that 
the  sailings  of  the  Flower  Line  steamers  were  all 
from  Southampton,  though  she  could  find  no  men- 
tion of  the  Escallonia  in  her  haste. 

Something,  however,  she  felt  that  she  must  do. 
After  many  discarded  attempts  she  composed  the 
following  message : 

"Have  pity,  delay  Gilbert's  departure  till  I  have 
seen  him.  Act  instantly." 

She  then  wrapped  herself  in  her  kimono,  went  to 
the  telephone  in  her  father's  dressing-room  and  dic- 
tated the  message  to  the  post-office.  They  told  her 
the  nearest  office  to  Fratton  Beck  was  Woodlands-in- 
Teesdale,  about  two  miles  distant  from  the  Rectory. 

Having  done  this — the  only  thing  she  could  think 
of — she  returned  to  her  room,  bathed  and  dressed, 


The  Judge  is  Judged          279 

and  crept  to  the  nursery  to  distract  her  misery  with 
the  sight  of  the  beautiful  infant.  She  seated  herself 
beside  the  cradle,  wherein  he  slept  the  sleep  of  the 
replete  in  an  odour  of  violet  powder,  and  curved  her 
arm  about  the  cradle  head  as  if  therein  lay  all  the 
comfort  in  a  cruel  world. 

The  weather  was  improving,  the  clouds  were  part- 
ing, the  sun  of  June  was  pouring  hotly  over  the  lovely 
prospect  outside  the  windows.  For  the  first  time  in 
a  fortnight,  England  was  having  a  glimpse  of  sum- 
mer. 

***** 

"Gilbert!    Gilbert!    Gilbert!" 

Her  heart  reiterated  the  name.  There  was  no 
help  for  it.  She  was  his,  and  at  last  she  knew  it  ... 
and  he  had  flicked  her  contemptuously  aside  and 
turned  his  back  upon  her.  He  thought  of  her  slight- 
ingly, as  a  despicable  thing — seeming  gold  which 
turned  out  to  be  mere  gilding. 

Her  head  swam  in  a  maze  of  confused  feeling. 
When  the  nurse  peeped  in  and,  with  the  air  of  one 
conferring  a  dukedom,  whispered  that  if  she  pleased 
she  might  slip  in  and  see  her  ladyship  for  a  few 
minutes,  she  rose,  hardly  conscious  of  where  she  was 
going,  and  entered  the  dainty,  carefully  garnished 
room  like  one  in  a  dream. 

Bertalda  lay,  as  it  were,  on  the  crest  of  the  wave. 
She  had  never  anticipated  the  completeness  of  her 
triumph — this  glory  which  was  hers  as  the  mother 
of  the  heir.  She  looked  the  part,  was  dressed  for  it, 
was  living  up  to  it.  Her  surroundings  of  rosy  silk 


280       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

quilts,  glittering  silver,  snowy  linen,  vaporous  crepe 
de  chine,  were  all  exactly  in  the  picture. 

With  the  perversity  which  makes  one  see  exactly 
the  detail  to  which  one  would  fain  be  blind,  Charis 
marked  upon  her  finger  a  certain  ring,  a  family  heir- 
loom, which  her  father  had  kept  in  reserve  for  his 
daughter.  Now — what  could  be  too  good  for  the 
mother  of  his  son? 

"Why,  daughter,  how  ill  you  look!"  murmured 
Bertie  in  her  usual  tones  of  lazy  mockery. 

"I'm  feeling  a  bit  cheap,"  admitted  Charis,  forc- 
ing a  smile.  "Haven't  quite  got  over  my  adventure 
on  the  mountain,  I  expect.  But  don't  let's  talk  of 
that — let's  admire  your  magnificent  son." 

Bertalda  owned  demurely  that  she  had  never  sup- 
posed a  new-born  infant  could  be  so  extraordinarily 
attractive;  and  then  nurse  bore  in  the  treasure  and 
laid  him  on  the  bed,  and  the  two  hung  over  him 
examining  his  fingers,  his  toes,  his  features  and  his 
complexion,  with  the  absorption  which  is  customary. 

"I  wish  I  knew  what  you've  been  up  to,  Cis," 
smiled  Bertalda  presently.  "Aren't  you  sorry  you 
gave  poor  old  Clem  the  mitten?  If  you  had  been 
engaged,  he  couldn't  have  backed  out,  you  know." 

Charis  smiled  an  elfin  smile.  "Wouldn't  Aunt 
Gus  have  loved  me?  I  imagine  her  to-day  in  the 
private  chapel  at  Orsover,  thanking  whatever  gods 
there  be  for  her,  for  the  marvellous  escape  Clem  has 
had!  No,  my  dear,  you  know  better  than  to  sup- 
pose I  could  grow  pale  for  Clem's  sake !  When  you 


The  Judge  is  Judged          281 

are  better,  dad  will  tell  you  of  the  mischief  I  have 
been  up  to — got  my  fingers  burnt — that's  all." 

The  luncheon  gong  rolled  through  the  house  and 
she  got  away  without  more  said.  Her  father  was 
in  the  hall  as  she  ran  down,  and  he,  too,  exclaimed 
at  the  sight  of  her  "Hallo,  Cis!  What  has  hap- 
pened?" 

She  grasped  his  arm.  "Come  here — into  your 
den — a  moment.  You'll  be  p-p-pleased,  I  expect  I 
It's  all  over — I'm — I'm — I've  got  the  chuck,  as  one 
might  say." 

She  thrust  Gilbert's  letter  into  his  hand,  and  stood 
there  strained  and  breathless  as  he  read.  One 
perusal  seemed  not  enough  for  him.  From  begin- 
ning to  end  he  read  it  twice,  while  she  felt  as  if 
time  stood  still.  Then  he  shrugged  his  shoulders  as 
he  folded  it  with  precision  and  held  it  out  to  her. 

"The  gentleman  can  hit  hard,"  said  he.  "I  feel 
sorry  he  is  not  to  be  my  son-in-law.  The  man  who 
could  write  that  letter  has  got  stuff  in  him.  Dear, 
dear,  what  a  pity !  We  might  have  got  on  together !" 

He  took  her  lightly  by  the  arm  to  pilot  her  into 
the  room  where  lunch  awaited  them.  In  the  hall 
Wright  met  them  with  an  orange  envelope  upon  a 
salver. 

Charis  snatched  it,  tore  it  open,  read  what  was 
written,  looked  up  at  her  father  and  turned  so  pale 
that  he  put  his  arm  round  her  to  support  her.  She 
was  not  unconscious,  but  her  head  fell  limply  against 
his  coat,  and  she  was  for  the  moment  quite  incapable 
of  speech. 


282        The  Judgment  of  Charis 

Lord  Ringland  took  the  message  from  her  hand 
and  read: 

"Regret  Escallonia  sailed  eight  o'clock  this  morn- 
ing.— STRACHAN," 


CHAPTER  XXX 

STRACHAN'S  SUGGESTION 

wife  of  the  vicar  of  Fratton  Beck  stood  at 
X  the  window  of  her  drawing-room  gazing 
across  the  moor  in  the  direction  of  Cauldron  Snout 
for  the  first  sign  of  the  returning  party,  that  she 
might  tell  Hannah  to  make  the  tea. 

The  sun,  which  showed  up  the  shabbiness  of  the 
vicarage  furniture,  seemed  to  rest  lovingly  upon  the 
cloud  of  white  hair  which  rippled  on  Mrs.  Nichol- 
son's head.  It  was  hard  to  believe  that  she  and 
Mrs.  Cranstoun-Brown  were  sisters. 

Mary  Nicholson,  married  at  nineteen  to  a  man 
who  was  both  highly  educated  and  well-bred,  had 
developed  and  gone  on  developing  in  an  upward 
direction.  When  first  Strachan  met  her,  he  felt  a 
real  kinship,  and  told  himself  that  now  he  knew 
whence  Gilbert  derived.  The  nephew  curiously  re- 
sembled his  Aunt  Mary  about  the  brow  and  mouth. 
The  idealist — always  crushed  down  and  trampled 
upon  in  Gilbert — had  been  cultivated  in  his  aunt. 
Her  face  had  that  beauty  which  is  owed  solely  to 
expression — as  though  a  lamp  burned  behind,  and 
the  whole  countenance  were  suffused  with  its  light. 

Welcomed  by  the  simple  hospitality  of  the  pair, 
Strachan  wished  he  had  come  hither  sooner. 

283 


284       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

Though  Mrs.  Nicholson  understood  none  of  what 
had  happened,  she  nevertheless  acted  as  a  soothing 
balm  to  his  aching  heart. 

There  was  no  pretence — the  frugality  of  the 
household  could  not  be  hid  and  no  attempt  was 
made  to  do  so.  The  thought  of  how  best  to  relieve 
these  two  from  pecuniary  anxiety  for  the  remainder 
of  their  days  diverted  the  rich  man's  broodings  and 
gave  him  a  new  interest. 

The  sound  of  a  car  rushing  up  the  Dale  was  quite 
a  usual  one  in  summer  time,  and  Mrs.  Nicholson 
took  no  notice  of  this  one  until  it  turned  in  at  the 
vicarage  gate. 

A  tall,  elderly  man  emerged,  who  could  be  heard 
— the  window  being  open  —  inquiring  for  Mr. 
Strachan.  Learning  that  he  was  out,  he  asked  that 
he  might  be  allowed  to  await  his  return;  and  at  that 
the  hospitable  Mrs.  Nicholson  went  into  the  hall, 
greeted  the  stranger  kindly  and  led  him  into  the  sit- 
ting-room, explaining  that  she  was  expecting  Mr. 
Strachan  back  at  any  moment. 

The  party,  in  fact,  materialised  almost  at  once. 
They  all  walked  in  together,  those  staying  at  the 
inn  having  come  for  tea  to  the  vicarage.  Lord  Ring- 
land,  already  most  favourably  impressed  by  his 
hostess,  was  quite  struck  with  the  charm  of  Strach- 
an's  face.  He  briefly  explained  who  he  was,  and 
did  not  fail  to  note  the  chill  and  stiffening  of  the 
Canadian's  manner  when  he  heard  the  name. 

Hospitably  pressed  to  sit  down  to  tea,  he  had  an 
opportunity  to  observe  all  the  members  of  the  party 


Strachan's  Suggestion          285 

in  which  his  daughter  had  travelled.  Morrison  was, 
as  he  already  knew,  a  friend  of  his  nephew  Clement 
Vyner.  Mrs.  Varick  he  found  charming.  When 
the  vicar  appeared,  dusty  and  thirsty  after  a  long 
tramp  to  an  outlying  farm,  to  minister  to  a  sick 
parishioner,  he  proved  to  be  as  unusual  and  interest- 
ing  as  his  wife  and  their  cousin. 

With  all  but  Strachan,  his  lordship  was  soon  on 
friendly  terms.  Veronica  and  Sheila  asked  after 
"Miss  Garth"  with  demure  faces  but  merry  eyes; 
and  permitted  their  smiles  free  play  when  they  found 
the  visitor  quite  prepared  to  be  chaffed  about  his 
daughter's  disingenuous  behaviour. 

Tea  over,  he  rose,  and  suggested  that  Mr. 
Strachan  should  stroll  down  with  him  as  far  as  the 
beck.  Strachan  assented,  markedly  without  enthusi- 
asm. Cigarettes  were  lighted  and  they  moved  off 
together. 

No  sooner  were  they  gone  than  comment  broke 
out  from  all  the  talkative  party. 

"So  that's  his  lordship !"  This  from  Vee,  always 
first  to  put  in  her  word.  "He's  very  like  her,  isn't 
he?  Has  that  same  habit  of  smiling  with  his  eyes. 
.  .  .  But  my!  Hasn't  he  got  the  grand  manner! 
Did  you  notice,  Aunt  Mary?" 

"I  notice  that  his  manners  are  better  than  those 
of  the  present  generation,"  smiled  her  aunt;  "but 
then  I  may  say  that  I  usually  find  that  to  be  the 
case  with  men  of  his  age.  Your  Cousin  George,  for 
example." 

"Trust  auntie  to  have  a  dig  at  us,"  laughed  Vee, 


286       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"when  all  the  time  she's  thinking  what  an  amusing 
crowd  we  are !  But  you  liked  him,  didn't  you  now?" 

"I  think  he  acted  very  properly  in  coming  to  visit 
George,"  was  the  composed  rejoinder.  "I  think  he 
would  have  acted  still  more  properly  had  he  come  a 
day  or  two  sooner." 

"Mr.  Strachan  did  not  give  him  an  effusive  wel- 
come," smiled  Sheila.  , 

"George  is  proud." 

"His  cousin  Gilbert  resembles  him  there." 

"I'm  sorry  not  to  have  seen  Gilbert,"  said  Mrs. 
Nicholson  regretfully.  "He  was  such  a  nice  boy 
when  last  he  stayed  with  us.  He  seemed  to  love  the 
moors  and  not  to  find  it  at  all  dull  here." 

"How  odd,"  remarked  Phyllis.  "He  was  always 
complaining  that  Streatwood  was  so  dull." 

Like  many  of  poor  Phyllis's  remarks,  this  one 
brought  the  conversation  to  a  close  by  reason  of  its 
sheer  ineptitude. 

When  the  two  gentlemen  were  presently  seen  re- 
turning, Strachan's  face  had  taken  on  a  decidedly 
more  genial  expression. 

"Mary,  my  dear,"  said  he  as  he  entered,  "can  you 
contrive  to  do  without  me  for  a  day  or  two?  His 
lordship  wants  to  carry  me  off  to  Ringland,  and  I 
have  accepted  his  invitation." 


Charis  lay  out  in  the  hammock,  under  one  of  the 
great  cedars  which  are  a  feature  at  Ringland.  It 
was  nearly  eight  o'clock  (summer  time),  and  the 


Strachan's  Suggestion          287 

sun  was  still  above  the  horizon,  dyeing  the  waters  of 
the  lake  in  splendour. 

She  was  feeling  utterly  beaten  down  with  misery 
and  loneliness.  Her  father  had  been  absent  for 
hours  and  hours,  and  she  had  passed  the  livelong 
day  in  solitude,  but  for  the  interludes  of  heir-wor- 
ship in  the  nursery. 

She  had  found  by  now  ample  time  for  introspec- 
tion, and  the  result  was  a  depression  which  daunted 
her.  She  knew  that  she  dare  not  face  this  life  of  do- 
nothing.  Whatever  chanced,  she  could  not  remain 
at  Ringland,  consuming  herself  with  unavailing  re- 
gret. She  was  beginning  to  emerge  from  her  stupe- 
fied state,  and  to  feel  an  intensity  of  wretchedness 
such  as  she  could  hardly  have  thought  possible. 

At  last  she  heard  the  sound  of  the  returning  car. 
It  ceased  its  purring  at  the  gate  which  divided  the 
garden  from  the  park,  and  she  guessed  that  her 
father  was  walking  thence.  She  watched  for  him  to 
come  into  sight  round  the  big  rhododendron  clump. 
Two  gentlemen,  of  much  the  same  height  and  build, 
came  slowly  into  view,  walking  in  deep  confabula- 
tion. One  was  her  father — the  other 

With  a  glad  cry  she  sprang  from  the  hammock, 
flew  across  the  smooth-shaven  lawn  and  grasped 
Strachan  by  both  hands. 

"You?  You?  How  topping!  Where  do  you 
come  from?  How  did  you  get  here?" 

"I  come  from  Fratton  Beck,  and  your  father  did 
me  the  honour  to  fetch  me.  He  told  me  he  had  a 
little  girl  who  was  fretting  herself  ill,  and  as  I  was 


288       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

responsible  for  her  hurt,  he  indicated  that  it  was  up 
to  me  to  see  what  could  be  done.  Why,  my  child — 
my  dear  child — what  have  you  done  with  your- 
self?" as  he  marked  the  underlined  eyes,  the  heavy 
lids,  the  white  cheeks.  "No  more  of  this,  you 
know." 

"Then — then  you're  not  angry  with  me?  You 
haven't  dropped  me  for  ever  and  ever?" 

"Now  what  in  this  little  old  earth  put  into  your 
head  the  idea  that  I  was  angry?  No,  indeed.  Far 
from  it.  I  did  not  dare  to  butt  in,  the  British  aris- 
tocracy being  a  thing  I  have  no  experience  of." 

"Humbug!"  As  she  smiled  up  at  him  the  tears 
were  beaded  on  her  lashes.  "Oh,  it  is  good  to  see 
you !  I'm  starved  for  news — real  sensible  commer- 
cial news — news  of  the  business!  I'm  eating  my 
heart  out  to  know — have  Greely  and  Mason  gone 
back  on  the  Assinauga  contract?  And  did  you,  after 
all,  get  your  price  with  the  Cosmopolitan  Trans- 
shipping Company?" 

Her  father  broke  into  laughter.  "So  these  are 
the  things  which  really  interest  you,  are  they?  No 
wonder  I  couldn't  hit  on  a  congenial  topic!  But 
you  must  wait  for  the  answer  to  these  thrilling  ques- 
tions until  I  have  taken  Mr.  Strachan  up  to  his  room 
— or  we  shall  have  Wright  employing  his  strongest 
known  protest — bringing  the  dinner-gong  out  upon 
the  lawn!" 

***** 

"Now,"  said  Strachan  gravely  when,  dinner  over, 
he  had  wandered  with  Charis  down  to  the  lakeside, 


Strachan's  Suggestion          289 

and  had  watched  the  slipping  away  of  a  herd  of  fine 
deer,  startled  by  their  approach.  "Now,  Miss 
Osbourne,  let  us  get  down  to  bedrock." 

"As  long  as  you  call  me  Miss  Osbourne,  you'll 
never  get  anywhere  near  bedrock,"  was  the  swift  re- 
tort. "Please — I'm  Charis  to  you  .  .  .  even  though 
I  never  shall  be  to — him." 

Strachan  watched  her  with  eyes  quickened  by 
love.  "I  want  the  truth  then,  Charis.  This  white 
face,  these  tears  at  night — are  they  really  for  Gil- 
bert?" 

She  made  a  funny  little  growling  sound,  gazing 
at  him  half-defiantly,  half-despairingly.  "Oh,  laugh 
at  me  as  much  as  you  like!  I  feel  like  a  savage 
squaw  whose  husband  has  licked  her  with  a  thick 
stick,  and  who  therefore  grovels  before  him!  Gil- 
bert has  scourged  me  with  knotted  rope — every  cut 
of  the  whip  has  bitten  in  so  deep  that  the  least  touch 
is  agony.  And — and  I  think  I  deserved  it.  But 
that  he  will  never  know." 

"Never  know?" 

"How  should  he?  One  could  not  reply  to  such  a 
letter  as  he  sent  me." 

"I  wonder — would  you  let  me  see  it?  Your 
father,  apparently,  thought  it  remarkable." 

Without  embarrassment,  as  if  it  were  the  most 
natural  hiding-place  in  the  world,  she  drew  the  letter 
from  within  her  low  bodice  and  handed  it  to  him. 

"My  God!"  burst  out  Strachan.  "Gilbert's  a 
lucky  man !  Oh,  he  has  the  world's  chance,  and  yet 


290       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

he  hasn't  the  sense  to  take  it!  Presumes  to  sit  in 
judgment  upon  you — you." 

She  smiled  with  wry  mouth.  "I  sat  in  judgment 
on  him,  remember — for  weeks  and  weeks  .  .  .  but 
do  me  the  justice  to  admit  that  I  always  appreciated 
him." 

Strachan  perused  his  cousin's  letter  with  un- 
moved face.  uAnd  you  say  you  have  not  replied  to 
this?" 

"Certainly  not.  What  could  I  say?  Would  you 
like  me  to  beg  of  him  to  give  me  another  trial?" 

His  eyes  pierced  her.  "Then  you  have  decided 
to  whistle  him  down  the  wind?" 

"Now,  sir,  don't  presume,"  said  she,  softly  and 
lightly,  but  with  an  undercurrent  of  strong  feeling. 
"You  have  pried  behind  the  scenes  and  looked  at 
my  raw  wound.  But  it's  going  to  heal.  What  do 
you  suppose  I'm  made  of  ?  Am  I  the  one  to  knuckle 
under  to  the  brute  who  knocks  me  down  with  a 
cudgel?  Oh,  I  hope  you  know  me  better  1  If  he 
had  been  patient — or  tender — or — or  humble,  as  he 
ought  to  have  been — things  might  have  been  dif- 
ferent. As  it  is  .  .  .  after  to-night,  we  won't  men- 
tion it,  please." 

"We  shan't  get  much  chance  to  do  that,"  drawled 
Strachan,  gazing  with  narrowed  eyes  across  the  lake. 
"I'm  off  again  directly.  Had  a  letter  from  Greely 
and  Mason  which  has  made  my  blood  boil;  and  I've 
got  to  catch  a  boat  out  to  Canada  in  a  month's  time 
from  now.  Do  you  know — laugh  at  me,  won't  you? 
— I  funk  going  over  without  my  secretary.  All  these 


Strachan's  Suggestion          291 

matters  have  passed  through  your  hands,  and  it 
seems  kind  of  lonesome  to  grapple  with  them  with- 
out you." 

Without  looking  at  her  he  saw  the  sudden  leap 
of  all  her  being  at  the  chance  held  out  ...  it  was 
quite  a  long  time  before  she  said: 

"It's  a  pity  I  can't  go  with  you.  "I — I  never 
thought  our  time  together  would  have  ended  in  a 
month's  salary  in  lieu  of  notice." 

"I  never  meant  it  to  end  so.  If  it  does,  it  will  be 
your  choice,  not  mine.  Personally,  I  see  no  reason, 
things  being  as  they  are,  why  you  should  not  come 
out  with  me.  I  realise  that  you  must  wait  for  the 
state  christening  of  the  future  baron;  but  that  would 
suit  me  well.  Mrs.  Varick  wants  to  see  Canada,  and 
said,  if  I  could  persuade  you,  she  would  avail  herself 
of  our  escort.  And  I  don't  think  your  father  would 
see  any  objection.  Think  it  over." 


CHAPTER   XXXI 

DREAMS;  AND  THE  AWAKENING 

IT  was  late  evening,  but  hardly  dusk,  when  a  car 
drew  up  to  the  broad  steps  of  a  great  house  in 
Ontario,   and   Strachan,   alighting,   helped  out   the 
two  ladies  in  his  charge. 

His  English  butler,  husband  of  his  Canadian 
housekeeper,  stood  upon  the  steps  to  welcome  him. 

"Well,  Marks,  how  goes  it?"  asked  Strachan, 
shaking  hands  kindly  with  his  servant.  "You  have 
carried  out  my  instructions?  Mr.  Brown  does  not 
know  that  we  are  expected?" 

"No,  sir,  he  don't,"  replied  Marks  cheerfully. 
"Mrs.  Marks  and  me,  we  haven't  named  it.  Nor  he 
hasn't  seen  any  preparations;  but  then  he's  hardly 
ever  in  the  house,  except  when  he's  asleep." 

"Indeed?    I  hope  he's  not  overworking,  Marks?" 

"Well,  sir,  he's  pretty  regular  at  the  office,  and  I 
have  heard  he's  making  things  hum  there,"  said 
Marks  with  a  smile.  "But  he's  what  you  might  call 
caught  on  in  society  here,  and  he  has  invitations 
enough  to  last  him  his  lifetime.  Well,  sir,  and  I 
will  say  you  look  well !  England's  done  you  a  power 
of  good,  as  I  felt  sure  it  would  do." 

"Yes.  I  feel  a  great  deal  stronger  for  the  change, 
thanks;  and  now — you  were  saying — where  is  Mr. 
Brown  at  this  moment?" 

292 


Dreams;  and  the  Awakening    293 

"Mr.  Cranstoun-Brown  came  home  a  little  before 
five,  changed  into  flannels  at  once  and  went  off  to 
tennis  at  General  Moore's.  I  am  expecting  him  back 
any  minute,  and  have  put  out'his  things  for  him.  He 
dines  with  Mr.  Archer,  and  off  with  him  to  a  ball 
at  the  governor's  house." 

"Ah!  I'm  glad  folks  are  showing  him  hospi- 
tality. And  now,  ladies,  you  had  better  go  upstairs 
and  prepare  for  dinner — you  haven't  much  more 
than  half  an  hour." 

Mrs.  Marks,  flanked 'by  a  couple  of  maids,  ap- 
peared to  lead  Charis  and  Sheila  to  their  rooms, 
which  they  found  replete  with  every  luxury  accord- 
ing to  Canadian  ideas,  and  they  were  much  inter- 
ested in  examining  the  heating  system,  the  water 
supply,  and  so  on.  When  the  bell  sounded,  they 
came  downstairs. together  and  found  Strachan  await- 
ing them  in  the  hall.  They  were  just  about  to  repair 
to  the  dining-room,  when  the  hum  of  a  car  was  heard 
and  a  fine  Daimler  stopped  at  the  gate.  In  it  were 
some  young  men  in  flannels,  one  of  whom  jumped 
out,  and,  as  his  friends  drove  off,  came  running 
lightly  up  the  steps,  racquet  in  hand,  and  admitted 
himself  with  a  latchkey. 

As  he  stepped  within  the  hall  he  halted  abruptly, 
gazing  upon  what  at  first  seemed  to  be  an  hallucina- 
tion. 

Then,  as  though  he  had  touched  in  himself  some 
lever  which  brought  the  whole  of  him  immediately 
into  subservience  to  his  will,  he  came  forward  with  a 
smile  and  gesture  of  greeting. 


294       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"Hallo,  George,  this  is  admirably  staged!  How 
many  of  the  old  gang  have  you  persuaded  to  cross 
the  herring-pond?  Have  you  got  the  others  con- 
cealed upstairs?" 

He  shook  hands  with  Mrs.  Varick,  then  with  his 
cousin,  and  last  with  his  cousin's  secretary.  "Let 
me  guess,"  said  he,  as  he  turned  from  his  perfunc- 
tory shake  of  her  hand  to  Strachan  with  a  laugh, 
"you  distrusted  me  so  profoundly  that  you  felt  im- 
pelled to  steal  a  march  upon  me?  Well,  I  think  the 
ledgers  will  bear  examination — haven't  had  time  yet 
to  get  far  with  my  schemes  of  defalcation." 

Strachan  placed  both  hands  upon  the  broad 
shoulders.  "If  they  bear  inspection  as  well  as  you 
do,  I  shan't  complain!  You  look  extremely  well, 
Gilbert,  and  I  hear  the  whole  of  this  little  old  village 
has  fallen  for  you." 

"Who  told  you  that  yarn?  Marks  has  been 
romancing.  But  I  admit  that,  for  your  sake,  folks 
are  being  very  kind  to  me.  Mrs.  Varick,  quite  a 
scheme  for  you  to  come  over !  I  think  you  will  find 
a  good  deal  to  interest  you  in  various  ways.  By  the 
way,  I  expect  you  are  all  just  going  in  to  dinner, 
and  I  fear  I  mustn't  linger  now!  Some  men  are 
calling  for  me  in  fifteen  minutes'  time,  and  we're 
going  to  a  dance!  Must  get  into  my  war-paint! 
Tell  me  the  home  news  to-morrow." 

He  laughed,  nodded,  sprang  up  the  stairs  and 
disappeared. 

"We-ell!"  said  Sheila,  with  one  amused  eye  upon 
Strachan  and  one  on  the  impassive  countenance  of 


Dreams;  and  the  Awakening    295 

Charis.  "As  that  delightful  man  we  met  on  board 
would  have  said,  Gilbert  is  going  it  some,  isn't  he? 
He  seems  greatly  altered." 

"Canada's  not  quite  like  England,"  returned 
Strachan  dryly. 

***** 

Next  morning  the  ladies  remained  upstairs,  sleep- 
ing off  their  fatigue;  and,  as  Strachan  and  Gilbert 
were  both  at  the  office  all  day,  they  did  not  meet  the 
young  man  until  the  evening,  when  he  condescended 
to  dine  with  them,  but  made  his  apologies  and  left 
immediately  after  for  an  evening  of  bridge  at  the 
house  of  a  man  he  had  formerly  known  at  Oxford. 

Strachan  suggested  his  taking  a  few  days'  holi- 
day that  he  might  escort  the  ladies  about  a  bit.  Gil- 
bert replied  that  he  should  be  delighted.  But  the 
expeditions  planned  did  not  come  off,  as  the  guests 
were  snowed  under  by  troops  of  visitors  and  showers 
of  invitations. 

There  ensued  a  round  of  gaieties  which  threatened 
to  become  exhausting.  Charis,  clinging  to  her  only 
rag  of  an  excuse  for  her  presence  there,  insisted  up9n 
taking  her  secretarial  duties  very  seriously;  and 
found  the  social  round  in  addition  somewhat 
fatiguing.  Meanwhile,  Gilbert  and  she  never  met 
but  in  company,  and  never  spoke  a  word  to  one 
another  beyond  what  the  conventions  demanded. 

For  the  first  few  days,  knowing  the  man  as  she 
did,  Charis  did  not  believe  that  he  could  keep  it  up. 
As  time  went  by,  and  he  maintained  his  pose  seem- 
ingly without  an  effort,  she  began  to  realise  that  he 


296       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

meant  the  break  to  be  final  and  complete;  and  to 
regret  that  she  had  ever  come  to  Ontario.  But  for 
the  consistent  way  in  which  he  neglected  and  ignored 
her,  one  might  have  sworn  that  there  could  never 
have  been  anything  between  them. 

Naturally,  this  is  a  game  at  which  two  can  play; 
and  it  did  not  take  long  to  make  the  girl  proficient. 
Her  neat  avoidance  of  all  chance  of  intercourse  was 
soon  as  complete  as  his. 

There  was,  however,  a  fact  which  worried  and 
disturbed  her.  Pass  her  waking  hours  as  diligently 
as  she  might  in  forgetting  Gilbert,  the  moment  sleep 
relaxed  her  will  he  passed  into  her  dreams,  and  took, 
complete  possession. 

In  these  dreams  he  was  as  devoted  as,  in  the  world 
of  fact,  he  was  cold.  So  glowing,  so  exquisite  were 
the  hours  they  seemed  to  pass  together,  that  she 
usually  awoke  penetrated  utterly  with  the  thrill  of 
them;  so  that  each  morning  the  clash  of  their  es- 
trangement was  a  new  shock. 

She  took  refuge  more  and  more  in  the  whole- 
hearted hospitality  and  kindness  offered  her.  Soon 
it  was  obvious  that  several  of  the  young  men  who 
were  in  Gilbert's  set  found  the  Honourable  Miss 
Osbourne  (as,  to  her  great  amusement,  they  per- 
sisted in  calling  her  on  every  possible  occasion)  very 
attractive  indeed.  Strachan  watched  the  stream  of 
bouquets  and  the  be-ribboned  boxes  of  sweets,  and 
wondered  if  jealousy  would  break  the  stubborn  back 
of  the  young  man.  He  could  not,  however,  detect 
any  signs  of  this. 


Dreams;  and  the  Awakening    297 

Gilbert  flirted  a  good  deal;  it  seemed  he  could 
always  now  find  plenty  to  say  to  girls. 

"Who,"  thought  Charis,  "who  that  knew  him  in 
Streatwood  —  gauche,  glum,  tongue-tied  —  would 
guess  this  to  be  the  same  man?  Cymon  indeed; 
What  a  transformation!" 

At  last  Strachan  felt  it  time  to  take  other  steps. 
He  saw  signs  of  serious  intention  on  the  part  of 
more  than  one  young  man;  and  also  that  Gilbert  was 
not  sufficiently  guarded  in  his  behaviour,  and  was 
awaking  hopes  for  no  other  purpose  than  to  punish 
Charis.  He  therefore  announced  that  he  was  find- 
ing town  too  hot,  and  proposed  that  they  should  all 
go  and  camp  at  his  shooting  shack  at  Altabec. 

Sheila  was  enchanted  at  the  notion.  She  said  she 
would  far  rather  do  this  than  rush  around  sight- 
seeing. Charis  would  not  express  any  pleasure  in 
an  arrangement  which  must  certainly  tend  to  fling 
Gilbert  and  herself  together.  Gilbert,  however,, 
busily  fitting  a  new  string  to  the  banjo  he  was  learn- 
ing to  play,  regretted  politely  that  he  had  already 
accepted  an  invitation  to  stay  with  friends  in  a  dif- 
ferent direction,  and  doubted  if  he  would  be  able  to 
come  to  Altabec  at  all. 

Upon  this,  Charis  warmly  said  that  she  thought 
the  camping-out  idea  quite  delightful.  She  only 
lamented  that  her  visit  to  Canada  must  terminate 
upon  their  return  to  the  city,  as  her  father  wrote  that 
he  needed  her.  She  hoped  that  Sheila  would  not  cut 
short  her  own  time  on  her  account,  as  she  could  quite 
easily  find  an  escort.  "I  suppose,"  said  she  to 


298       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

Strachan,  "that  I  ought  to  book  my  passage  at  once, 
ought  I  not?  The  boats  are  so  full!" 

"If  you  mean  that  you  really  must  go,  I'll  see  to 
that  for  you,"  replied  Strachan  gravely;  "but  won't 
you  wait  until  I  have  found  another  secretary?" 

"Now  that  you  have  Mr.  Brown,  I  should  have 
thought  you  did  not  need  one.  But  I'll  look  about 
for  you,  and  do  my  best  not  to  leave  you  stranded." 

That  night  they  all  went  to  the  theatre  together. 
Upon  their  return,  when  the  two  girls  had  gone  up- 
stairs, Strachan  called  Gilbert  into  his  smoking-den 
and  flung  himself  into  an  easy  chair.  The  young 
man  was  restive.  He  stood  upon  the  hearth,  drink- 
ing his  lemon-squash,  as  if  wishing  to  be  gone. 

"Sit  down,  you  young  fool!"  said  Strachan 
sternly;  and  after  a  moment's  hesitation  his  order 
was  unwillingly  obeyed. 

"Gil" — after  a  prolonged  puff  at  his  pipe — "I 
want  to  say  that  I  wish  you  10  come  to  the  camp  at 
Altabec  with  us." 

Gilbert  clenched  his  fists  and  stared  at  the  carpet. 

"Then,  George,  I  want  to  say,  that  I'll  be  hanged 
if  I  do.  Haven't  I  borne  enough?  Haven't  you 
plunged  me  into  hell  all  these  weeks?  And  have  I 
so  much  as  squeaked?  I  know  the  pull  you  have  over 
me — I  definitely  don't  want  to  quarrel  with  my  bread 
and  butter — but  you  must  own  there's  a  limit — and 
I've  got  there.  I  didn't  think  you'd  be  so  infernally 
cruel,  George." 

Strachan  sat  forward.  "In  what  respect  do  you 
charge  me  with  infernal  cruelty?  Strong  term!" 


Dreams;  and  the  Awakening    299 

"Not  too  strong  to  describe  what  you  have  done 
in  bringing  her  here,  when  you  knew  well  what  the 
sight  of  her  means — must  mean — to  me !" 

"Were  you  born  idiotic,  Gilbert?  Why  do  you 
suppose  she  is  here?" 

"I  know  that  perfectly  well,  of  course.  Because 
you  are  going  to  marry  her." 

The  slow  dark  colour  flooded  the  sensitive  face  to 
the  roots  of  the  iron-grey  hair. 

"Dash  your  impertinence!"  drawled  Strachan. 
"You  don't  seriously  think  it.  But  this  I'll  say  to 
you — and  in  dead  earnest — that,  if  you  don't  mean 
to  seize  your  chance " 

"My  chance !     I've  chucked  that  away." 

"You  unutterable  young  fool,  she's  as  proud  as 
you  are.  She'll  not  easily  forgive  that  letter  you 
wrote.  But — if  you  could  persuade  her  to  forgive  it 
— well,  there's  a  heaven  waiting  for  you,  my  lad, 
which  I  can't  help  your  chucking  away  if  you  want 
to,  but  which  not  one  man  in  a  thousand  ever  gets  a 
chance  to  enter."  Rising  to  his  feet  he  stood  impres- 
sively upright,  frowning  down  upon  Gilbert's  flushed 
and  perturbed  face.  "And  I  warn  you" — slowly — 
"that,  if  you  mean  to  let  your  paltry  pride  stand  in 
the  way  of  her  happiness — why,  then,  I  take  a  hand. 
If  begging  and  praying  and  loving  and  serving  will 
do  it,  I'll  be  your  rival,  as  you  have  just  now  accused 
me  of  being.  So  don't  say  you  haven't  been  warned." 

There  was  a  long,  throbbing  silence.  Then  the 
young  man  spoke,  in  a  low  voice  as  if  to  himself: 
"I  daren't.  I  can't  risk  it  again.  The  pain  was  too 


30O       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

ghastly.  It  makes  me  a  coward.  .  .  .  Sometimes  I 
think  I  hate  her,  when  she  sweeps  past  me  as  if  I 
were  not  there.  .  .  .  Why,  she  keeps  her  very  eyes 
from  resting  on  me,  even  by  accident!  And  you 
ask  me  to  go  again  and  offer  her  my  heart  to 
tear.  .  .  . 

"You  shall  have  something  more  than  your  heart 
to  offer  this  time,  Gil,"  said  his  cousin  quaintly, 
"though  I  admit  the  article  in  question  seems  to  be 
of  more  value  than  I  at  first  supposed.  However, 
you  can  now  offer  her  a  position  she  need  not  de- 
spise. I  am  going  to  take  you  into  partnership.  I 
am  going  to  make  an  eldest  son  of  you.  And  in 
return  I  make  but  one  solitary  condition — that  you 
drop  the  name  of  Brown,  and  adopt  that  of  Strachan 
by  deed  poll." 

Gilbert  lifted  his  ravaged  face,  and  his  mouth 
quivered.  "George — you  mean  that?" 

"I  mean  it.  I  shall  give  your  mother  a  legacy, 
and  provide  an  ample  annuity  for  the  Nicholsons. 
The  rest  is  for  you  and  Charis." 

Suddenly  Gil  sprang  up.  "She  knows  this?  You 
have  told  her  your  intentions?" 

Strachan  smiled  slowly.  "What  do  you  think? 
No,  she  knows  nothing  of  it,  and  cares  less.  She 
herself  is  no  great  match,  now  that  the  little  brother 
has  arrived;  his  lordship  will  be  thankful  to  be  let 
off  the  necessity  of  providing  a  large  marriage  por- 
tion. And,  after  all,  there  will  be  only  one  life  be- 
tween your  heirs  and  the  Ringland  property." 

"George,"   pleaded   Gilbert  shakily,    "have   you 


Dreams;  and  the  Awakening    301 

reason  to  suppose — any  real  ground  for  suggesting 
— that  she  cares?" 

"Personal  observation,"  was  the  cautious  reply. 
"She  is  here.  I  go  by  that." 

Said  Gilbert,  after  long  silence:  "I  can't  thank 
you.  I  can't  even  fix  my  mind  on  what  you've  just 
told  me.  I'm  only  conscious  of  the  hope — the  thing 
that's  to  make  or  break  me.  Will  you  do  something 
for  me  ?  To  give  me  a  chance  ?  Let  her  continue  to 
think  that  I'm  not  coming  to  Altabec.  Let  me  turn 
up  unexpectedly,  when  you've  been  there  two  or 
three  days.  Play  up  to  me — arrange  the  stage  a 
bit." 

"I  get  you,  Gil,"  was  the  calm  rejoinder. 

Altabec  is  the  most  charming  of  shacks,  with  a 
big  central  living-room,  round  which  the  bedrooms 
are  grouped.  A  covered  passage  on  one  side  leads 
to  the  bath  building,  and  a  similar  one  opposite  to 
the  kitchens. 

In  other  moods  Charis  would  have  loved  the  place. 
But  now  it  had  no  charm.  A  couple  of  days  in  the 
solitary  wilds  gave  her,  far  more  poignantly  than  in 
Ontario,  the  sense  of  being  forsaken.  Sheila  was 
learning  to  paddle  a  Canadian  canoe  on  the  pic- 
turesque sheet  of  water  near  which  the  shack  stood. 
Strachan  was  teaching  her,  and  this  left  Charis 
lonely  for  many  hours  at  a  time. 

On  a  golden  afternoon  of  sunshine  and  warm  air 
she  lay  alone  in  the  hammock  under  the  veranda. 
All  the  elements  for  comfort  and  luxury  were  there; 


3O2        The  Judgment  of  Charis 

she  was  surrounded  by  beauty;  and  its  only  effect 
seemed  to  be  to  emphasise  her  unhappiness. 

Since  Gilbert's  blunt  refusal  to  join  the  camping 
party,  she  had  realised  that  all  she  had  to  do  was  to 
collect  the  remnants  of  her  pride,  and  make  them 
hold  together  until  she  could  leave  this  country  of 
grief  and  humiliation.  She  had  slept  badly  the  pre- 
vious night,  and  presently  the  seduction  of  the  after- 
noon peace  overcame  the  gloom  of  her  thoughts, 
and  she  drifted  into  sleep.  As  usual — "with  the 
first  dream  that  comes  with  the  first  sleep" — she  was 
with  Gilbert,  and  all  was  well.  She  dreamed  that 
he  was  there,  with  her — that  she  was  no  longer 
alone — and  that  they  were  talking  with  the  ease  and 
intimacy  of  perfect  harmony.  "We  can  never  quar- 
rel any  more,"  she  thought  he  said.  And  she  re- 
plied: "No,  for  now  we  understand  everything, 
don't  we?" 

She  spoke  the  last  words  aloud,  and  the  sound  of 
her  own  voice  awoke  her. 

She  opened  her  eyes  upon  Gilbert — Gilbert  in  the 
attire  suitable  for  the  backwoods — Gilbert  so  com- 
pletely part  of  the  picture  that  for  a  few  seconds  she 
believed  herself  still  dreaming,  and  smiled  up  from 
her  heart  into  his.  Then  with  a  shock  she  realised 
that  she  was  awake — that  he  was  no  longer  part  of 
the  dream — that  he  looked  rather  mischievous,  and 
that  he  was  swinging  the  hammock  gently  to  and 
fro. 

"Hushaby,  Baby,"  he  crooned;  and 


Dreams;  and  the  Awakening    303 

"What  are  you  doing?  Stop  swinging  me  about!" 
cried  she,  struggling  up  on  her  elbow. 

"That  all  the  greeting  you  have  for  a  fellow  who 
has  been  travelling  thirty  hours  without  a  break  to 
get  here?" 

"You  needn't  have  hurried  so.  You'll  have  to 
wait  quite  a  long  time.  Sheila's  out  on  the  water, 
and  won't  be  in  before  dark." 

"I  can  live  without  Mrs.  Varick,  thank  you!" 

"I  suppose  you  will  want  some  food,  and  so  on. 
Kindly  stand  away,  and  let  me  get  out  of  this  thing!" 

Gilbert  stooped  and  gathered  her  into  his  arms 
to  lift  her  to  the  ground.  So  taken  by  surprise  was 
she  that  she  was  imprudent  enough  to  struggle,  and 
when  she  did  that  he  held  her  tight — tight. 

"No  use,"  said  he.  "I  shan't  put  you  down  until 
I  want  to.  There's  nobody  about.  The  servants 
are  in  the  kitchens,  and  I  have  you  all  to  myself. 
So  if  I  let  you  go,  it  will  be  on  my  own  terms." 

"Terms!  Your  terms  forsooth!"  Her  voice, 
which  should  have  been  infuriated,  sounded  faint 
and  shaky.  "And  pray,  what  are  your  terms?" 

"Unconditional  surrender,"  he  whispered. 

"Mr.  Brown,  you  forget  yourself !" 

"I  do.  I  can  remember  nothing  but  you.  Cruel 
wretch  that  you  are — coming  out  here  to  gloat  over 
me  !  How  long  did  you  suppose  I  was  going  to  stand 
it?" 

«I_I  wondered." 

"Oh!    So  you  did  wonder?" 


304       The  Judgment  of  Charis 

"Well,  just  now  and  again  I  did.  .  .  .  Oh,  Gil, 
Gil,  how  hateful  you  have  been  to  me!" 

"I'll  make  up  for  that.  I've  had  enough  of  being 
humble — one  only  gets  trampled  on.  For  the  future 
I  am  going  to  be  very  kind  .  .  .  and  condescending 
.  .  .  I'm  going  to  forgive  you,  and  take  you  on 
again,  if  you're  very  good." 

"Forgive  me,  indeed!  You  would  be  far  better 
occupied  if  you  went  on  your  knees  to  beg  me  to 
forgive  you!" 

"My  knees  are  better  occupied.  The  Desire  of 
my  Life  is  enthroned  thereon."  And  suddenly  his 
voice  changed  to  the  note  she  loved  and  dreaded — 
the  voice  that  had  conquered  her  in  the  inn  by  Thirl- 
mere.  "But  my  heart  is  kneeling  to  you,  oh  Be- 
loved— is  asking  for  a  sign  that  this  isn't  a  delirious 
dream.  I  want  to  be  sure  that  I  have  really  come 
to  the  door  of  Heaven,  and  that  it  has  opened  to  me 
at  last." 

"It  might  have  opened  sooner  had  you  just  taken 
the  trouble  to  knock." 

"I  jolly  well  wasn't  going  to  risk  another  rebuff." 

"Neither  was  I!     Then,  what  made  you?" 

"What  made  me  dare  to  come  here  to-day? 
George,  of  course !  He's  a  bit  magnificent,  old 
George.  He  gave  me  the  right  to  come,  by  telling 
me  that  the  £  s.  d.  part  was  his  affair. 

"He's  wonderful!"  she  murmured,  with  remorse- 
ful tenderness. 

Her  lover  was  not  yet  in  a  state  to  bear  that  note 
in  her  voice  for  any  other  man. 


Dreams;  and  the  Awakening    305 

"Never  mind  Strachan,  nor  £  s.  d.,  nor  any  other 
old  thing,"  he  whispered.  "Nothing  in  all  the  world 
matters  but  you — just  you  and  me !  Let's  get  out 
of  sight  before  the  others  turn  up — let's  be  off  into 
the  woods.  I've  been  hanging  about  among  the 
trees  for  the  past  half-hour,  waiting  to  see  if  you 
would  go  to  sleep,  and  I've  discovered  a  nook  over 
there  by  a  waterfall — a  seat  just  made  for  two. 
Come,  Iphigenia,  come  away  with  your  shepherd 
lad.  ...  Or  must  I  carry  you?" 

There  were  two  who  watched,  from  a  boat  far 
out  upon  the  little  lake,  the  approach  of  the  be- 
sieger; and  who  witnessed,  after  quite  a  short  parley 
at  the  gates,  the  submissive  departure  of  the  van- 
quished. The  lovers  slowly  disappeared  among  the 
great  fir-trees,  moving  so  amicably,  so  evidently  in 
perfect  agreement,  as  to  leave  no  doubt  of  the  suc- 
cess of  the  surprise  attack. 

"The  barriers,"  said  George  Strachan  drearily, 
"must  have  gone  down  with  a  run." 

The  soft  eyes  of  Sheila  Varick  were  dim  with  pity 
for  his  pain.  In  the  past  few  weeks  he  had  aged 
perceptibly.  Recalling  him  as  he  had  been  when 
they  started  upon  their  motor  tour  in  such  hilarity 
and  glad  anticipation,  she  thought  he  looked  ten 
years  older. 

She  could,  however,  offer  only  unspoken  sym- 
pathy; in  such  a  case,  what  is  there  to  be  said? 

She  hoped  and  believed  that  after  a  while  this 
man  might  come  to  love  as  a  daughter  the  creature 
who  had  so  bewitched  him;  but  as  yet  such  a  sug- 


306       The  Judgment  of  Chans 

gestion  would  not  only  be  of  no  comfort,  but  might 
actually  increase  the  bitterness  of  defeat. 

For  when  a  man  of  George  Strachan's  age  and 
temperament  falls  in  love,  the  malady  is,  alas !  quite 
likely  to  prove  incurable. 


THE  END 


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